


El Loro

by Inkaley



Series: The Grand Cause [4]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Brawls, Brief Nick/OC, Brief Troy/OC, Danger, Dealing with Jealousy, Established Relationship, Fake Flirting, Fighting, Flirting, High Stakes, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Auctions, Jealousy, Kissing, Life or Death mission, Love, M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Mission Fic, Nick and Troy being badass, Nick being jealous, Nightclub, Romance, Sex, Sex under the starlit nightsky, Troy being jealous, Unbreakable Bond, Violence, Zombie slaying, el bazar, getaway, secrecy, stealth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-10-04 21:18:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17312042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkaley/pseuds/Inkaley
Summary: Mexicali's El Bazar isn't a place where you gain things. It's a place where you lose them. Unfortunately, gain is exactly what Nick and Troy came here to do.Having been robbed of an invaluable item that's critical for the ranch's very survival, the two men find themselves on a life or death mission that forces them to descend into the depths of the shady black market - putting their strength and resolve to the test as much as their love for each other.Multi-chaptered mission with established Trick.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A mission arc taking place several years after the events of Grand Cause. The story is pretty stand-alone though, so no previous knowledge is required.  
> The first part has originally been posted as a chapter for Grand Treasure. Since this arc however is totally unrelated to the kid!fic and will run for several chapters, I decided to change it into a standalone story instead. So far, the beginning is just the original chapter, I'll however try to update very soon!  
> Please enjoy!

Jadu Wadi knows how to get by in the New World.

Has so ever since a bunch of armed soldiers had crashed their door, dragged her father and her two brothers with them, removing them from their house as well as from their lives, without a trace – as if they’d never been there in the first place.

Has so ever since her mother had taken her final breath, arm and shoulder disfigured to a mess of bloody shreds, torn apart by a monster that had been nothing but a bloody mess itself.

Has so ever since she’d pinned her mother’s moving corpse to the back wall of the tool shed with her dad’s rusty rake – running, running from her home, her entire world without a cinch of sorrow. For the place she was leaving behind had nothing in common with the home she used to know and love so much anymore. Nothing at all.

She’s learned how to get by in the New World step by step, city by city, pain by pain. She knows the times you could buy health or happiness or peace with money are long over. There’s only one currency left in the New World. And that currency is _information_.

Information on anything that helps people to survive: Locations of supplies, water sources, weapons. Tricks and hints on how to fight the dead. Secrets that give you power over your foes and enemies. She’s good at dealing with secrets – and hell, there couldn’t be a better place for it than Mexicali’s El Bazar. Black market, night club, gambling hell, refuge. It’s become her new home, no matter how much she despises the human abysses that can be witnessed and encountered here day after day.

Here, she can get by.

So when Jadu Wadi hears about the formula, she knows it’s gonna be worth its weight in gold.

There’s two men waiting for her at the designated rendezvous spot in a remote corridor. She observes them from the shadows long before they notice her. Both tall and slender, their athletic build discernable despite the thick jackets they wear. They’re trained to fight. Trained to kill. And yet. She can read from their composure they haven’t been to the black market often, let alone sold off a secret.

All the better, Jadu thinks to herself with a smile, as she emerges from the shadows. This should be a cinch.

“So word is, you got a formula in your possession that allows people to calculate the time it takes for someone to turn once they’re killed off?” she asks, voice muffled under her disguise. “Wonder where you got it.”

One of the two men turns around to face her, and to her surprise there’s no trace of uncertainty or nervousness in his eyes. Instead, something else. Pride, almost.

“I didn’t get it anywhere,” the man replies, sharp eyes glistening in the gloomy halfdark. “I’m the one who discovered it.”

 

“Are you?” Jadu replies, acting unfazed. She feigns disinterest, helps to cut the price. “Well, then I guess this might be a misunderstanding. I came here for an _actual_ formula, derived from scientific research.”

“Oh, it is based on scientific research,” the man insists. “I may not have my doctor’s degree, but it’s backed by empirical data, and no small amount, if I may add.” He raises his eyebrows, then gives her a shrug. “And it’s proven. We can get you some sorry asshole, if you want to. Then you can put it to the test and convince yourself of its validity.”

 _Jesus Christ, what kind of psycho is that?_ Jadu can’t help thinking. His demeanor disgusts her for a moment, but then her professionalism takes over again. In the end, she doesn’t care. She’s made money with bloodier secrets than this. She doesn’t give a damn how that formula was developed. As long as it works.

“I wanna see it,” she demands eventually, making sure the wariness is clearly audible in her voice. “The formula. In black and white.”

“Sure,” the man replies, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper, holding it to her.

She closes the distance between them, reaches for the note and takes a glimpse at the lines scribbled on it. It’s a rather large formula, encompassing age, height, weight of a person, as well as other variables, but some of them are blacked out.

“It’s incomplete,” she points out with displeasure, handing the note back. “I’m not interested if it’s not complete.”

“You’ll get the complete version,” the man offers. “But you understand we need some insurance before the price has been paid.”

She can’t suppress a grin, but luckily, underneath her disguise, it’s not visible to the men. “And what would your _price_ be?”

“Well, how about… _our booklet_.” It’s the first time the other man has spoken, and his voice came out a menacing growl.

Jadu doesn’t even get the chance to make sense of his weird remark, as right at that moment, a hard knee is forced into her stomach, and for a second the impact and pain, as well as sheer panic, overwhelm her so badly, her world starts spinning around her.

The man who’s hit her – the one who’s been silent the whole time – immediately grabs her by the collar before she can topple over and she feels herself being thrown against the wall roughly.

“Where’s the booklet?” he snarls at her, his face a menacing grimace, brown eyes glaring grimly. He raises his fist.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she gasps, fighting back the urge to throw up.

“Liar!” he barks, pulling her off the wall slightly, fingers still entangled in her collar, just to shove her back against the wall once more for a second impact.

“I don’t even know who you are!” Jadu cries, the uncertainty of what’s going on getting to her more than the actual pain pulsating through her body.

The man gives her a dismissive snort, then reaches for his own collar. Pulling it down slightly, his shirt reveals parts of a large bandage covering his collarbone. “You remember me now?”

A surge of panic sends a shiver down her spine, she feels herself grow pale.

Freaking shit, she does. She does remember him.

 

*** Nick ***

 

Football arenas, soccer stadiums, concert halls. In the Old World, those were the places with the thorough security checks. Realistically, however, they weren’t that thorough at all. Most of the times, they were nothing but a half-hearted hug you got from some bored staff – and the many successful terrorist attacks or shooting sprees were sad proof of the low quality of their oh-so-acclaimed security standards.

Here, at the entrance gates of the black market in Mexicali, the security check is _actually_ a security check worthy of the name. And the big guy with the tattoo covered arms is taking his job very seriously.

A feisty grasp at my crotch, and I can’t help raising my eyebrows, telling him with a suggestive voice: “If you go on like that, I may feel obliged to pay you.”

The security staff however doesn’t even grace me with the slightest reaction. He probably gets comments like that all the time.

“Nick!” Troy’s voice reaches me, urging me to hurry up – not because of my suggestive remark (he’s long passed the security check himself, no way he heard it), but he’s actually growing impatient with me taking this long.

Once I’m finally clear, I follow him to one of the check-in counters, where a middle-aged woman awaits us behind a pane of bullet-proof glass.

“Names?” She doesn’t even look up from her documents.

“Clark,” I reply, watching her closely as she fills in the letters.

As she’s done and I don’t say anything else, she does shoot me a glance over the rim of her glasses.

“Nicholas,” I add with a growl. And because her attitude annoys me, I add with mock-cheerfulness: “My zodiac sign is Gemini, my favorite food Mac and Cheese. And my shoe laces measure 60 inches each.”

“Yes, thank you very much for that contribution,” Troy interrupts hastily, pushing me away from the counter before anything worse can happen. “Troy Otto,” he informs the woman with a more cooperative voice. “And we’re not here to look for trouble.”

Those words, of course, are directed at me. But I would be reluctant to agree. _He_ may not be looking for trouble – _me_ on the other hand…

I’ve been looking for trouble ever since two hands grabbed me from out of nowhere, ready to strangle me, just to crush my collarbone with a well-placed, iron-knuckled punch. An exceptionally insidious raider had attacked our squad four days ago – and gotten away with one of our most critical assets: The booklet Paul had created as a manual on the operation of the water pump at the Reznik & Son factory in Austin, the one we’ve been using as our main backup water source for years.

Feeling the urge to retire from the stressful trips our squad takes there every other month, Paul has decided to document his entire knowledge on the plant in a small booklet, to be able to pass it on to the younger members of the militia – Liam, to be precise, who was of course super thrilled at the prospect of becoming the next “water master”, as he dubbed his new profession.

And that booklet of all things fell into the hands of some freaking asshole, who broke my collarbone to get away with it.

To us, having that invaluable information leaked put us in a life or death situation: The water pump’s most efficient protection all those years had been the fact that no layman would ever be able to tell its purpose by just looking at the machine. With Paul’s booklet, whoever gets their hands on it doesn’t just gain that insight, but will also be able to figure out where exactly the pump is located and how it can be operated.

If we don’t get the booklet back before the information contained spreads, we’ll have to expect company at the factory sooner or later, and if we lose our access to the pump, the next drought period may well be our last.

So aside from my personal itching to settle scores with that asshole of a thief, I keep being plagued by the most horrible visions of my family gruesomely croaking to death – Mom, Alicia and Jake, their little son, my nephew Noah… Troy… Coughing, reaching out for me with pleading, trembling hands, lips chapped and eyes blood-shot, calling my name with raspy voices…

 _No!_ I shake my head vehemently, forcing myself to focus back on reality, back on the task ahead, to prevent that horrible future from ever becoming reality.

“You’ll have to consent to our guidelines,” the woman behind the counter goes on, sliding another sheet of paper towards Troy. “No weapons whatsoever allowed inside, and if we catch you pursuing any shady business – zero tolerance.”

 _Shady business, give me a break_ , I think to myself as I cross my arms with a huff. This whole place is the _epitome_ of shady business – arms trade, drugs, prostitution, slavery, you name it. Including rules like that into their terms of service sounds like the most cynical wink to everything that’s actually going on right under their nose.

Under normal circumstances, we’d steer clear of a place like that at any cost. Mexicali’s El Bazar is a place where you lose things, never gain them. Unfortunately, _gain_ in this case is exactly what we came here to do.

Ironically, it was eventually one of Walker’s men who pointed us to this place, a rather bulky guy named Crazy Dog, who’s one of Ofelia’s closest friends. With nothing but a vague description of the asshole that stole the booklet, we held our eyes and ears open. The thief had been cloaked full-body in a black disguise, the only prominent detail the symbol of a colorful feather stitched on the left sleeve.

“El Loro,” Crazy Dog had told us. “ _The Parrot_. No doubt about that. We’ve been robbed by that asshole in the past as well. He’s always keen on getting his claws on information and secrets, dealing with them as if they were actual goods. But if need be, he isn’t opposed to making money on ordinary hot goods either. A few days later, our most valuable items turned up at the black market in Mexicali – that’s where El Loro monetizes his loot.”

So that’s exactly where we’re planning on tracking down that son of a bitch we have a crow to pluck with – if we don’t end up plucking the parrot itself.

Without batting an eyelash, Troy signs the trading terms, committing himself to all the rules we came here to break in the first place.

The woman reclaims the signed paper, checks it, then flips open the register containing the credit chips. “How many credits do you need? And what can you offer in exchange?”

“Oh, we won’t need any credits,” Troy replies, for the first time during all our interaction with her actually piquing her interest. She raises her eyes at us, finally _properly_ eyeing us through her glasses.

“We’re not here to _buy_ ,” Troy informs her with a smirk. “We’re here to _sell_.”

At that, the woman snorts. “What do you wanna sell?” she laughs, as we’re not carrying anything with us. “His 60 inches shoe laces?” Nodding at me.

Troy starts laughing as if she’d made an actual joke. “No!” he then says, voice high-pitched, before locking his eyes back to her with a defiant smirk. “We’re here to sell a secret.”

 

***

 

_Thud._

El Loro gasps as I throw him against the wall a second time.

“Liar!” I snarl, tightening my grip around the thief’s collar. That asshole’s trying to mess with us, I can feel it, but God help me he’s made the wrong enemies. We’re gonna make the birdie chirp, one way or another.

That’s been the plan after all – and so far, things are working out smoothly.

To catch a mouse, you need a piece of cheese. To catch a parrot, you need a secret. We’ve laid out the bait, and it didn’t take long until the birdie came to take it. Instead of finding him, El Loro found us.

And now, he’s gonna return the booklet.

“I don’t even know who you are!” the thief defends, the muffled voice coming across almost a little hysteric. And indeed: The dark eyes – practically the only visible feature under the thick layers of robe – flicker with rising panic.

Maybe this guy is really so dumb. Maybe he ambushes so many people every day he doesn’t even remember their faces. Fine. If it takes a little reminder, I’m all too willing to give it.

Pulling down the neck of my shirt, I reveal the bandage covering my collarbone – and by the way El Loro’s eyes widen for the tiniest of seconds, it’s clear that there’s no need for any further introduction.

“Return the booklet!” I growl, putting as much emphasis in my voice as possible, making it clear my patience is fading.

“I don’t have it anymore!” the Parrot whimpers. “I sold it to a client, yesterday.”

I share a look with Troy.

“What client?” Troy wants to know, taking a step towards us.

El Loro shakes his head. “I can’t tell you. I have to protect my client.”

“Who did you sell the booklet to?!” I repeat, now raising my fist to… _increase my persuasiveness_.

The fear in the thief’s eyes rises, that’s obvious, and his body starts squirming in an attempt to break free from my grip.

 _Ah, ah, ah, not so fast_. I press my body against the Parrot to keep him in place – and startle. _What the fucking hell?!_ It’s a woman underneath the robes.

For a second, my clenched fist freezes in the air as I stare into her eyes for a long while. But then the memory of the pain pulsating through my collarbone flashes into my consciousness, mixing with the cries of agony of my loved ones dying of thirst. Mom, Alicia, Jake and Noah. _Troy_.

No. I’m opposed to any kind of discrimination. For better or worse.

And so my fist flies down at her as I punch her like I would punch any other asshole endangering my family.

There’s a cracking sound as my fist connects with her face. She gives a muffled whimper, then tries to reach for her nose, but I’m faster. Grabbing a handful of the fabric, I pull the mask off her face.

“Holy shit…” Troy hisses as he now realizes the truth about our opponent as well.

It’s a Pakistani girl, dark skin, eyes even darker. Her dark hair, messy from my pulling off the mask, slowly starts descending back down on her shoulders like a veil of pitch black goose downs.

And she’s _young_. Fifteen or sixteen at the most.

She stares back at me with defiant eyes, blood running from her nose.

“Better talk fast, missy,” I hiss. “Cause next punch I won’t guarantee you get to keep all your teeth.”

For a second, her eyes dart to Troy as if she was trying to assess the situation. Then her gaze darts back to me. “The Broker,” she says eventually. “I sold the booklet to the Broker.”

I hear Troy let out a displeased grunt. “And who the hell is that supposed to be?”

“Better not mess with us, girl,” I hiss, giving her a quick jolt to stress my point. “Answer his question.”

She looks back at me with her eyes full of disdain, and for a second I think she’s actually considering spitting me in the face, when all of a sudden, the situation takes quite a different turn.

In the blink of an eye, she jerks her hand from my grip and the next thing I know is my vision blurring with pain as I helplessly stagger back a few steps, trying to regain my balance.

“Bitch!” I cry. That little brat dug her fingers right into my bandage.

I spin round, but she’s already bolting down the corridor, Troy hot on her heels, taking up the chase. But hell, she’s fast. And El Bazar is her territory.

I’m unable to help as I watch them both vanish around the next corner, a loud rattling echoing back to me not even five seconds later. Cursing, then more noise. Shouts.

As to be expected, Troy returns to me about a minute later. Alone. He’s panting, but his face is dark and grim and full of frustration. “The fucking parrot got away.”

 

***

 

At least we got a name.

Not that this is much to go with, especially not since we have no way of telling if that little bitch actually told us the truth in the first place – or if her words were nothing but a random lie to get us off her back.

Turns out, after a little digging, there might actually be something to her claim.

 _The Broker’s_ the next big name at Mexicali’s black market, running a business of shady auctions for stolen and illegal goods. Dangerous, ruthless, powerful. And apparently, with all the valuable secrets and information, El Loro’s one of the Broker’s most appreciated suppliers.

So it does make sense for our booklet to have ended up in the hands of the next greedy asshole, waiting to be sold off to the highest bidder for God knows how much. Considering we’re basically talking a treasure map to an inexhaustible water source, I’m guessing _a lot_.

Our investigation eventually brings us to the _Hellhole_ , some nightclub / disco, which is known as one of the Broker’s favorite places to spend the time in between the auctions.

Whereas El Bazar itself is already a place to avoid, the Hellhole takes that hunch to the next level. Descending the stairs to the catacombs underneath the black market, we can already feel the booming of the subwoofers vibrating under our shoes. The air is stale and sticky, the lightbulbs illuminating the staircase dim and partly shattered. Everything about this place screams danger, and whereas Old World Nick might have been drawn to exactly that kind of place, today’s Nick feels his blood pressure rise with every step he takes – because he’s wary of the danger, and maybe even scared to find out what a place like this could end up reawakening inside of him.

Involuntarily, I reach for Troy’s sleeve, grabbing the fabric, and while he shoots me a puzzled look over his shoulder at first, he quickly returns the touch, fingers locking around my wrist, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

Yeah, that’s right. There’s no need to be afraid. I’m here with Troy. He’s gonna keep me safe – even from my own worst enemy: myself.

I shouldn’t see this as a negative, but rather as a chance. I know places like this. They used to be my territory. I can use that to our advantage.

Opening the door at the bottom of the stairs, the darkness, the flashing lights and the beat immediately engulf us like poisonous fog, but there’s no going back. The place is huge – and crowded. Drunk, stoned, apathetic people moving their bodies to the rhythm of the music on the dance floor, a feverish glistening in their eyes as they lose themselves in their frenetic trance.

There a metal cages on large columns among the dancing crowd, narrow boxes in which in the Old World scantily-clad women would have shown off their lascivious moves. Today – and that’s maybe even more repulsive, they hold walkers, going crazy with their craving for human flesh, so close, so deliciously dancing right underneath them and yet, forever out of reach – hopefully. The morbidity of the entire place makes my stomach turn.

“Come on,” Troy says to my ear, apparently feeling the same. “Let’s get this over with.”

We head over to the bar, take a seat on two empty stools. The wall behind it is covered by a huge mirror, to make the location look even bigger. We can observe the dancing people in it. The barkeeper, a young man, whose eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses – despite the darkness –, turns to us in an instant.

“What can I get you?” he wants to know.

“How about a bit of information?” I ask immediately, leaning towards him a bit conspiratorially. “We’re looking for _the Broker_ …” All I can see in his dark glasses is my own distorted reflection.

He replies with a quick scoff, then wordlessly points at a secluded space, a bit further away from the dancefloor, with fancily dressed people having drinks on small sofas and lounge chairs. Then he slides us two shot glasses filled with vodka. “Welcoming drinks are on the house,” he replies before turning away.

Troy and I scan the area intensely.

“Wait, what?” Troy raises his eyebrows in disbelief, as he spots the person in the center of everyone’s attention and guides my gaze with his finger. “Is that the Broker?! Jesus Christ…”

It’s a young black woman, Troy’s age maybe, very attractive. Slender build, tight-fitting clothes, heavy make-up. She’s a business woman that knows how to play her cards right, there’s no doubt about that. It’s obvious by the confident look on her face, the way her eyes flicker sharply in the flashing disco lights. Judging by the way her henchmen creep around her and the gracefulness in her movements as she smugly takes a sip from her drink, it’s also obvious this woman loves the attention – and she knows how to capture it.

“Maybe we can use it to our advantage,” I conclude to myself, thoughts and possibilities already running through my head.

Troy shoots me a look from the side. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“Well,” I reply, not taking my eyes off her, “I wouldn‘t have the slightest clue on how to bargain with some fifty-year-old dude. A lady like her, on the other hand…” I shrug, before turning my eyes back to Troy. “She might be susceptible to a bit of charm.”

“What,” Troy counters with a sarcastic laugh. “You wanna sweet-talk her into letting us have the booklet – out of the goodness of her heart?”

A defiant glance, then I wriggle my eyebrows at Troy suggestively. “I can try and ask nicely,” I offer.

As to be expected, Troy’s enthusiasm with my idea is sort of limited. “Nick,” he calls me.

“Relax,” I shrug. “It’s not like I’m planning to sleep with her or anything.”

“Oh!” he counters, voice suddenly high-pitched with sarcasm. “Oh, good to know, thank you! In that case, I’m of course _totally_ fine with it!”

“Good,” I reply contently, ignoring his irony on purpose, “then you won’t mind me getting to work.”

The look on his face darkens. “You can’t seriously expect me to be okay with you flirting around with some chick.”

“ _Pretending to flirt_ ,” I correct him absentmindedly, as I’m busy focusing on my reflection in the mirror behind the counter. With a quick gesture, I ruffle through my hair to make it messy and fluffy.

Troy watches me with horrified eyes. “What _the hell_ are you doing?!” he asks, a strange panic suddenly rising in his voice. The cuteness of the look gets to him, I can see that. He’d never admit it to me or even himself, and yet… he can’t bear watching me use it on someone else either.

“I’ll do it,” he objects, hastily grabbing my arm before I can head off. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Troy…” I pause, then shoot him a fond smile. “You know I adore you, I do,” I insist. “But in all fairness…” Putting my hand on his shoulder encouragingly. “Flirting isn’t exactly your strongest suit.”

I grab my shot and down it, then give him a chummy pat. “Have a drink yourself,” I suggest, then slide off my stool and head straight for the Broker.

 

***

 

“Hi,” is all I say, as I casually walk in, interrupting whatever conversation’s going on. A confident look on my face, I let myself plop down on the couch right next to the Broker.

The woman stares at me with wide eyes, speechless at the impertinence her uninvited guest showed up with.

A few of the girls and guys sitting around her start whispering, others giggling.

“Hi,” she counters, eying me with a disbelieving, but no less amused look.

I don’t pay any attention to her at first, instead curiously eye the hem of my sleeve, as if that was so much more interesting than her. I don’t say anything, just sit there like me being here was the most natural thing in the world – no matter everyone else has stopped talking and is staring at me.

“Sorry,” the Broker says eventually, now a derogatory smile on her lips. “You must be lost.” Her voice is soft and sweet, like the chiming of bells.

“Lost?” I blink as I eventually turn to her, for the first time locking my eyes to hers. She’s even more beautiful from close up, her skin flawless, the dark eyes deep and mysterious. I’m trying to shoot her my most daring look. “Nah, I don’t think so,” I reply ominously. “You’re the Broker, arentcha?” Now changing my gaze to a charming smirk. “I’m here for you.”

“Are you?” the Broker counters as she leans back a little, crossing her legs. It’s obvious I’ve piqued her interest. She gazes at me. “And why would that be?”

I shrug, raising my eyebrows. “You may have something I want,” I reply with a deep voice, not without the smallest hint of suggestiveness.

She motions at her fellowship, nothing more than a tiny nod of her head, and most of the people turn away, some heading off, others engaging in conversations of their own. We’re still surrounded by people, yeah, but I guess it’s the highest level of privacy I can expect.

“And what would that be?” the Broker asks, eyes darting back to me.

“Well,” I take in a quick breath, “word has it you got your hands on a special little booklet that will be on sale tomorrow…”

“The water pump booklet,” the Broker replies, a glint of amusement flickering in her eyes.

“You read it?!” I blurt out, a sudden fear getting the better of me and making me drop my aloof demeanor for a second.

The Broker however luckily doesn’t seem to notice. “Flipped through it.” She shrugs. “Have to know what it is if I wanna sell it, no?” She then shoots me a smirk of her own. “But don’t worry…” Jiggling her drink for a moment. “I personally don’t do water.”

I will myself to focus, hastily going on to not fuel her interest on the content of the booklet any further. “Thing is,” I say with a shrug, leaning in a bit closer to her, as if I was about to tell her a secret. I whisper: “ _I want it_.”

At that, she starts chuckling, drawing back. “Well, in that case, you’re welcome to attend the auction. If you got the necessary cash,” a warm smile, “it shall be yours.”

“Well, you see,” I insist, narrowing my eyes a little as I put on my poker face, subtly sliding closer to her once again. “I’m not really into public sales. I prefer…” eyes locking to hers, “quieter places, cozier places…” I let my gaze drop to her hands, then slowly, gently, I reach forward, stroking my finger over the back of her hand. “I thought – the clever business woman you are, you and I could come up with a more… _exclusive_ arrangement.”

“An _exclusive_ arrangement,” she repeats, followed by a quiet snort. She narrows her eyes, trying to read me, but I hold her gaze, deflecting her inquisitive look with my smirk. “Just who the hell are you?”

Looking up at her with a crooked grin. “Just a thirsty boy?”

That gets her to chuckle, and eventually she looks at me with more than just curiosity in her eyes. “Fine then,” she says, reaching for me with a smirk of her own.

For a second, I shudder as soft fingertips brush over the sensitive skin on the back of my neck teasingly, until she playfully lets her hand run through my hair. Involuntarily, my eyes dart back to the bar, searching for Troy, and I see he’s turned around on the stool observing us, face leaving not the slightest doubt about his displeasure.

“I’m a curious girl,” the Broker whispers, her grin suddenly widening, as she shifts, pushing herself off the sofa, and swings her leg over my lap, straddling me. And close to my ear, she whispers, “Just how thirsty are you, exactly?”

From the corner of my eyes, I see Troy shift of the barstool as well, his outrage or whatever it is he’s feeling right now can hardly be contained.

 _Well, gotta bite your tongue and bear it, boy_ , I think, unable to pay him any more attention. I have to keep up my act, play along, or the plan will be ruined.

So with a pleased grin, my eyes lock back to hers. “ _Painfully_ thirsty.” My hands find her narrow back, and softly, teasingly, I let them run down her side, until they come to rest on her hips, her butt firm and tight under the leather pants. Her strong perfume surrounds me for a moment, heavy and intoxicating, and she smiles down at me with glazed eyes, the heavy beat a hypnotic pulse in the darkness.

For the tiniest of seconds, I may actually be turned on by her.

“I’m dying for a drop,” I whisper to her, and as a pleased smile starts curving her lips, she leans in to me, hands messing up my hair, and catches my lips in a teasing, sensual kiss.

Even though I’d been prepared, the alarm bells start ringing in my head nevertheless, and I think of Troy for various reasons. And yet. For a second, I’m allowing myself this one kiss, the warm, soft and tender lips against mine, the delicate fingers in my hair – I have to! It’s part of the plan.

Eventually, she pulls back and I notice with shock that Troy’s jumped to his feet at the bar, gesturing wildly at me.

I try to call him off with a wave of my own, but my pantomimic conversation doesn’t go unnoticed by the Broker.

“Huh?” she looks at me, then takes a glance over her shoulder.

Troy’s reacted quickly, I give him that, hastily turning back to the bar as if he’d been leaning there for a quick drink all along.

“Who’s that?” the Broker wants to know, looking at me.

“That’s uhm…” I purse my lips. “No one. My cousin,” I correct, as it’s obvious there would be no use to deny the connection.

Strangely, however, the Broker doesn’t turn back to me. Instead, her gaze stays fixed on Troy’s reflection in the large mirror behind the bar. “And… your cousin…” she starts ominously. “Is he… _thirsty_ , too?”

I blink, not understanding where she’s going with this.

“Look,” she suddenly says, turning back to me. A sweet smile on her lips. “You’re cute and fun, and I couldn’t resist playing with you.” She gives me a look of mock regret. “But you’re not really my type.” Despite her words, she catches my lips again in a second kiss, this time biting me teasingly – just to get off me, and let herself drop back on the couch. “Your cousin on the other hand…” She glances towards the bar with an absent-minded expression. “If he’d be interested in an exclusive arrangement… I might actually be willing to negotiate.”

What the hell?? You gotta be kidding me! She wants Troy?!

 _No way!_ The moment she said it, my willingness to negotiate immediately dropped to zero. The deal is off.

I’m aware this may be a bit hypocritical, considering this is probably exactly the way Troy felt at the prospect of me (at least fake-) selling myself to the Broker. Now that I am basically in his shoes, playing along in this is out of question.

“I’m afraid that won’t work…” I tell the Broker, doing my best to conjure up a regretful expression. “You’ll have to make do with me. He’s gay.”

“Gay?” The broker repeats immediately, surprised at first, then she leans back, crossing her arms before her chest with disappointment in her eyes. “Too bad. What a waste.”

 _Woah._ For a second, I have to muster all my self-control to not let it show how much that remark just gave me a sting in the heart. Even though she doesn’t know, to me her words sounded like Troy was wasted _on me_ , like I wasn’t good enough and he could have done _so much_ better.

I force myself to keep up the smile, but it feels strangely frozen. “Yeah… Can’t be helped.”

“We could try anyway,” she suggests then, looking at me with a shrug. “Maybe he simply never had a woman and doesn’t even know what he’s missing.”

“Okay, that’s it,” I say, getting up from the couch. Again, another slap in my face – and she’s basically twisted the knife in my wound. Cause _yeah_ , Troy’s never been with a woman, and _yeah_ , maybe he doesn’t know what he’s missing. But that’s exactly my very fear. And that’s exactly the reason why _this_ – her and him – is _never_ gonna happen, not even as a ploy. “He’s not part of the deal, end of story, so I guess we’re done here.”

My words come out a bit harsh, and my sudden reaction must have seemed very impulsive. I guess that’s what’s given me away.

Staring at me with surprise at first, the Broker’s expression quickly turns into a knowing smile, as she rests her chin on her hands. “Hmmh, I think I get what this is about. Someone’s suspiciously possessive over their _cousin_ … Looks to me like the thing you’re actually thirsting for is a drop from his well, huh?”

“Screw you,” I growl at her, face a disdainful grimace.

She just shoots me a sympathetic smile. “I guess I’ll see you at the auction then.”

I stomp off the stairs, not without giving her the finger over my back.

That gets her to burst into a shrill round of laughter. “Good luck bidding!” she taunts me. “And don’t forget to bring your cousin!”

 

***

 

Back at the bar, I’m awaited by a pissed off boyfriend.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” he snarls at me, grabbing my arm violently. “You made out with her!”

Yeah, apparently, that’s his only concern.

“Yeah, that sort of was the plan, wasn’t it?” I bark, jerking my arm free from his grip, then push past him, towards the exit of the Hellhole – which is indeed a freaking hellhole. It’s my frustration that’s getting the better of me. The deal is blown, the Broker’s taunting still resounding in my head and now I also got a pissed off boyfriend on my hands.

“You’re an asshole,” he informs me, as soon as he’s caught up with me.

I can’t help snorting, shooting him a look over my shoulder. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” I growl.

“Welcome for what?!” he counters, disbelieving. “You weren’t even successful.”

“Oh really? What gave it away?” I stop, spinning round, then reply sarcastically. “Maybe I seal all of my deals with the finger.”

He stares at me for a long time, then shakes his head in frustration.

“At least I didn’t lack commitment,” I point out, crossing my arms.

“No,” Troy counters with a huff. “At least we can agree on that.”

 

***

 

We decide to rent a room for the night, but otherwise don’t talk much else as we settle down in our makeshift residence. It’s a filthy little place, old and run down, the plaster crumbling off the wall, the narrow bed grubby, the small sink at the wall chipped and rusty. The room’s basically a better storage room, considering the many wooden boxes stapled at the wall opposite the bed. At least the bedsheets seem somewhat fresh.

Once we made sure the door is safely locked, I make my way to the tiny sink to wash my hands, splash a bit of water in my face and take a sip to swallow the painkillers for my injury. As I dry my hands on the towel (which is basically just a rag), I take a glimpse in the partially clouded mirror, spotting Troy sitting cross-legged on the bed, that same pouting look on his face.

“Still mad at me?” I break the silence, turning around and leaning back against the sink.

I don’t get an answer.

Ironically, the chilly atmosphere between us as well as the fresh water just now has helped me a bit to calm down. We’re caught in this critical, life or death mission. If we fail, we’ll lose everything. And yet, we’re at a loss on how to succeed. All I want is for us to be good again. I can’t do this without him.

“You know I did it for you,” I point out with a stern face, putting the rag away, “for our future, for our family.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice also softer by now. “But that still doesn’t mean I have to be super excited about you sharing a passionate kiss with some random chick.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” I counter then, “she was a horrible kisser.”

“It doesn’t,” he informs me. Then however, as he thinks about it some more, he gives me a sheepish look. “Okay, maybe a little.”

I suddenly find myself chuckling softly at that, and it doesn’t take long until he joins in as well.

Eventually, I push myself off the sink, slowly coming over to him. “Look, I understand it was unsettling and stirred some deeply-rooted fear inside of you.” Thinking back to the Broker’s second proposal. “Trust me, I do.” Sitting down on the bed next to him. “But Troy, nothing like that could ever jeopardize the bond we share, not even in the slightest.”

He’s cast his eyes down. He knows that, and yet. It’s so hard to believe if your fears materialize right before your eyes like that. I get it.

So I take his hands, and with a soft, quiet voice I go on: “No bit of forced flirting with some random, evil bitch could ever make me question what we have, what connects us. It could never even remotely endanger a relationship of several years that’s all the happiness in my life.” Letting my thumb stroke over the back of his hand.

He gives me a fond snort, gazing at our hands.

“If anything,” I go on, “flirting with her made me aware of all the things she fell short of. I mean…” giving a quick snort, “if I had dinner with her, there’s no way she’d just reach over and start picking the mushrooms from my plate, because she has no idea I don’t like them. If I mentioned ‘plum pudding’ to her, there’s no way she’d immediately burst into laughter, because she doesn’t even have the slightest clue about the story and the joke around it.”

That gets him to snicker, and as he eventually looks up at me, there’s a soft smile on his face, a loving, appreciative one, and it warms my heart.

“If I whispered to her in the darkness of the night, told her I felt _lonely_ ,” I say, voice a bit more husky now, “she wouldn’t know what I need, because she doesn’t know me at all.”

The tiniest of smirks tugging at his lips.

“And if I looked into her eyes in one of our darkest hours, with everything at stake,” I add, voice now honest and sincere, “I wouldn’t be able to recognize my own fears in her gaze, the fear of losing our home, our family and everyone we love, because none of that matters to her. My Grand Cause and hers, it’s not the same.”

At that, Troy’s look grows solemn, and in his eyes I can see the spark of the love he feels for me, flaring up as he realizes how true all of that is. That honest appreciation blends into an almost pained longing. I feel his hand on my cheek, as he leans in to me and catches my lips in a heartfelt kiss.

I close my eyes, taking in every sensation of this moment, appreciating, treasuring it. Everything that felt new and exciting and _wrong_ earlier with the Broker, suddenly feels well-known, familiar and _right_ with him. I’ve missed this, I’ve longed for this, ever since the forced moment of intimacy with the wrong person. Passionately, I kiss him back, slow, savoring kisses, making both of us whole again.

“Alright,” Troy whispers eventually, breaking away. “You got me convinced. For now.” A blissful, but defying look in his eyes. “But rest assured I’m still not letting you off the hook that easily. Once we’re outta this shithole, I demand _extensive reassuring_.”

“Oh,” I counter, my huge smile of relief suddenly turning into a suggestive smirk. “It will be my pleasure to _thoroughly_ reassure you until you’re perfectly satisfied,” I reply with a grin, leaning forward to give him a teasing bite.

“Yeah?” he whispers hopefully against my lips and I can feel his smirk even though I can’t see it.

“Yeah,” I confirm, then let out a merry laugh, as suddenly his arms wrap around me and he pushes me back on the bed. I just love the familiar feeling of his body against mine, the familiar warmth, the familiar aura. With his lips on mine, hands running through my hair lovingly, it seems so ridiculous that even for just the tiniest of seconds I enjoyed that kiss with the Broker. _This_ is what I want, _this_ is what I need, _this_ is where I belong. With him.

“You know, Nicky,” he whispers to me softly after a few moments, looking down at me with serious eyes. “The reason why I reacted like this…” he starts, but I’m quick to shake my head.

“It’s okay, Troy, really,” I assure him. “I would have freaked out just as much.”

“It’s not just that,” he goes on and, gazing into his eyes, I can see there’s actually more to it. “If this should end someday…” he starts, a slight nod at us.

“Troy,” I protest immediately, but he shushes me with his finger on my lips.

“No, let me say it,” he whispers. “If this should end someday, one way or another… I… I couldn’t ever love someone else.” Shutting his eyes, shaking his head as if to banish that thought from his mind. “I _couldn’t_.”

“Troy,” I whisper back, a bittersweet sadness suddenly engulfing my heart. I reach for his cheek, cup it.

He catches my hand, burying his face in it. “I _need_ you, Nicky. I need you so much… Without you…” He trails off, then his eyes focus back on me, pleading. “Swear to me you’ll never leave me.”

I regret that my actions earlier stirred up this fear inside of him. It pains me to see it made him suffer. And yet, gazing up into his eyes, pleading, hurt, and yet at the very same time unrelenting, _possessive_ , I like it. I like being loved, being wanted in such an intensive way. I need him to be mine, as long as he needs me to be his. “Swear to me the same,” I whisper, propping myself up on my elbows. “Swear to me that you love me.”

“I love you, Nicky,” he whispers, darkly and utterly defeated.

There’s a smile tugging at my lips as I close the distance between us, letting my lips brush over his just to feel him kiss me back in a desperate way.

I intensify the kiss with all the longing in my heart. “I love you, too,” I reply, “and I swear to you I’m never–”

“UGH!”

Immediately, Troy winces and pulls back, pricking his ears. “What was that?!”

“AHH!”

“Fucking hell…” I growl, letting myself drop back on the mattress, turning my head to the source of the noise on the other side of the thin wall. “You gotta be kidding me…”

“AHH! AHH!”

“Okay…” Troy gives me a look that’s a weird mixture of embarrassment and disbelief. “That _totally_ didn’t ruin the moment…”

“AHH! AHH! AHH! OH! OH! OH!”

“Hmh…” I comment ironically. “’E’ and ‘I’ are still left.”

That gets Troy to burst into a disbelieving laughter. “Nick…” he calls me. “That can’t be true…” Snickering helplessly, he drops his head on my shoulder, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “Make it stop…”

“OH! OH! OH! OH!”

“Ah, freaking hell…” I growl. “Can’t you go any louder?! Seriously… It’s not like people are trying to sleep around here.”

“We weren’t trying to sleep,” Troy reminds me with a soft chuckle. His initial embarrassment has turned into amusement. My initial embarrassment has turned into annoyance.

“We could fight fire with fire…” he suggests, arm wrapping around me.

“Yeah,” I counter sarcastically. “Because that totally wouldn’t compromise our resolve to not draw any unnecessary attention…”

Troy just keeps chuckling.

“AHHH! AHHH! OH!! AHHH!!”

“Come _on_!!” I groan, unable to keep my voice down. “It can’t be _that_ good!”

“You sound jealous,” Troy comments. The more I complain, the more he enjoys it.

“Jealous?” I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, _please_. You know how good we are together.”

“UGNH!! UGNH!! UGNH!!!”

“We’re not always quiet little mice either.”

“True,” I admit, “but we’re living in a huge house all by ourselves, alone on top of a hill. It’s not like we have any neighbors sleeping on the opposite side of a two-inch gypsum wall. You can enjoy something without shouting the entire bazaar down…”

“OHHH!! OHHHH! OHHH!!”

Troy’s back in laughing mode. “Jesus, they’re about to break through the wall…”

Clenching my fist. “I’m gonna knock!”

“No!” Troy calls, last second catching my hand. “Because _that_ totally wouldn’t compromise our resolve to not draw any attention…”

I give him a pout as I look back up at him.

“Alright, how about this…” he whispers, then sits up for a second, grabs the blanket, and as he settles back down next to me, he pulls the blanket all the way over our heads.

Immediately, the world around us vanishes into a narrow sanctuary of hushed darkness. Our neighbors can still be heard, but the noise is significantly muffled. And I have to admit, being here, confined underneath the blanket, with Troy so close, sheltered by the cozy, warm narrowness around us, feels surprisingly enjoyable.

“Better?” he asks me with a smile.

I catch myself grin back at him. “ _Much_ better.” Resting my arm on his side with a blissful sigh. “So what are we gonna do now?” I whisper, eyes locking to his.

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Make out some more?”

I can’t help chuckling. I lean in to him, closing the tiny distance and give him a soft kiss. Then I pull back again, looking at him with a fond smile. “I meant about the booklet.”

“Oh,” he replies with a sheepish chuckle, then gives me a shrug. “I don’t know… I guess we’ll have to try to get it back tomorrow… during the auction…”

“Yeah, but how?” I counter, pursing my lips. “I’m sure the items for sale will be heavily guarded…”

“We could bid,” he suggests.

I shoot him a frown. In the darkness underneath the blanket it’s hard to read his eyes. “What do you mean?” I whisper. “We don’t have any credits.”

“No, but they’ll only find about that once it’s payday,” Troy points out. “That is: After the auction. I’m guessing most of the other bidders will already be gone by then, heading off with their purchased items. Less people, less value, less attention by the guards…” He pauses. “If there’s gonna be a fight anyway, it may be smarter to take a chance then, instead of starting a riot with everyone gathered and at attention at the beginning of the auction.”

“Makes sense,” I murmur after thinking about it for a while. “No, sounds good.”

“Nah, it doesn’t,” Troy counters, voice full of skepticism. “But I guess we don’t have much of an alternative.”

 

*** Troy ***

 

Regardless of our door being locked, we decided to take shifts keeping watch nevertheless. Who knows what assholes actually have spare keys, just waiting for a chance to rob us. Who knows whether our little parrot’s out for revenge for her broken beak. Who knows what kind of methods the Broker has at her disposal, to keep any unwanted bidders away from her auctions.

I volunteered to take the first shift, sitting on the bed with my back leaning against the wall, Nick curled up on the mattress next to me, his head resting comfortably on my lap as his pillow. Considering everything that happened earlier, we both couldn’t deny ourselves a bit of closeness.

Listening to his deep and even breathing – at least one familiar sound at this strange and despicable place –, my fingers leisurely entangled in his hair, I softly let my thumb stroke over his head, again and again.

Sitting here waiting in the darkness and silence (yes, silence. Our neighbors seem to have exhausted their energy reserves), the minutes start to drag, and once or twice I even catch myself starting up from a few seconds of dozing off – until one time I realize with shock that it wasn’t my subconscious that woke me again. It was a suspicious clicking sound at our door.

Suddenly wide awake, I listen into the silence. _Click, click, click_ – someone’s meddling with our lock.

 _Fuck those assholes_ , I think to myself. So we were right not to let our guard down after all.

“Nick,” I whisper, softly shaking my boyfriend’s shoulder.

He responds with a “Hmmh, have a good day, honey…”, and rolls over – luckily off me – to blissfully sleep on.

He’s interpreted my moving underneath him as me needing to get up for training or morning patrol while he’s good to sleep in.

It would have been adorable or funny if my mind wasn’t entirely elsewhere.

Silently sliding off the bed, I take the gun from my jacket (sure, the security check was good, but still not good enough – especially if you have a disassembled gun spread over two people and two bags) and quietly sneak over to take position by the boxes at the opposite wall.

Eyes fixed on the door, there’s eventually a significantly louder clicking sound – the lock picking being successful, and as the door is carefully being pushed open, I spot a hooded figure peeking inside.

Their glance immediately falling on the bed with Nick fast asleep, the intruder grows more confident, silently stepping inside, even carefully closing the door behind them.

“Hold it right there,” I growl all of a sudden, switching on the light as I point the gun at the intruder.

El Loro. We should have known.

Nick startles and sits up, disoriented at first, but as soon as his eyes focus on us, his face darkens.

The girl, cloaked in her black disguise with the colorful feather on the sleeve, winces as well, staring at me in shock. She grows pale as she’s suddenly eye to eye with a barrel. “Guns aren’t allowed in here,” is the first thing she says, suddenly sounding like the child she is.

I take a closer look at the pistol in my hand, as if I had no idea myself how a gun like that has suddenly popped up in my hands. “Oops,” I reply, pointing the weapon back at her and releasing the safety catch with a click. “On your knees,” I order. “Hands where I can see them.”

She holds my eyes defiantly for a second, but complies nevertheless. Kneeling down, she raises her hands. “This is unnecessary. I’m not here to harm you.”

“Right,” Nick counters with a sarcastic snort. “You just got the wrong door.”

“I’m here to suggest a deal,” she snarls back at him with impatience.

“Oh, give me a break!” Nick groans, slowly getting up from the bed and coming over to me. “I should have killed you when I had the chance to.”

“Then what?” she counters hastily. “Your smart plan to bargain with the Broker wasn’t successful, was it? Tomorrow your precious booklet will be sold to the highest bidder. And if you try to interfere, you will be executed right on the spot.”

Nick raises his eyebrow skeptically. “And if we don’t kill you, we won’t?”

She lowers her hands now, growing more confident we won’t shoot her before hearing her out. More than that even. She slowly gets back on her feet. “I’m El Loro, the Master of Secrets,” she says, voice now strong and confident. “I have secrets on anyone, including the Broker herself.” She looks at us determinedly, her eyes glistening in the darkness.

“We don’t have any money to buy them,” Nick states bluntly.

“Not _buy_ ,” the Parrot replies. “I’m suggesting a deal. A deal of mutual benefit.”

Nick and I share a long look. Then I turn my eyes back to her.

“Better chirp fast, birdie,” I growl. “Cause I swear to God, my trigger finger’s hella itchin’.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, first of all, thank you so much to everyone who left kudos or comments on the first chapter! It really made me very happy seeing that people enjoyed the beginning of this story.  
> Here we finally go with the second chapter. Please enjoy as well!

“A deal?” Nick snorts next to me. “We just attacked you. Why on earth would you be willing to help us?”

“ _Of mutual benefit_ ,” El Loro reminds us, “that’s what I said, no? Besides…” She nods at Nick. “I broke your collarbone. You broke my nose. I guess that means we’re even.”

“Then spit it out for Christ’s sake,” I interrupt them, slowly but surely growing impatient with the back and forth of their conversation. I wave my gun in her direction, just to give her a little reminder I’m still the one calling the shots here. _Literally_. “What kind of secret are you talking about?”

The Parrot’s eyes lock back to mine. “After the auction,” she starts, “all the items sold will be transferred to the Auction Hall on the third basement floor, where also the Broker’s headquarters are located.”

I notice Nick shooting me a skeptical glance. _What kind of secret is that supposed to be?_

“Before that,” El Loro goes on, “the goods are safely stored in a locked storage box  in El Bazar’s central warehouse, fourth basement floor.” She sounds calm and quiet as she speaks, no hint of mischief, greed, reproach or any similar emotion in it.

“But no doubt heavily guarded,” Nick chips in.

Her eyes immediately dart to him and for the tiniest of seconds I think I spot the outline of a smirk underneath her disguise. “The warehouse itself is open to anyone. There is no explicit security. Cause the best security is already native to the warehouse itself.” Yup, definitely a smirk. “The warehouse is filled with hundreds and hundreds of storage boxes, some of them smaller, some of them bigger. More than two thousands of them. A haystack to hide a needle, if you like. No thief will ever find what they’re looking for, unless they know _where_ to look.” Her eyes glisten as she goes on. “As luck would have it, I happen to know the number of the Broker’s storage box.”

For a moment, the room is filled with silence. The Parrot’s wallowing in her moment of glory.

Then, however, it’s Nick’s chuckle that breaks the quiet. “Nice try, birdie.” He pushes himself off the wall, then crosses his arms before his chest, approaching her. “But if what you said is true, if you do know the number of that box and that box is neither secured nor guarded in any way, then why the hell wouldn’t you just go there and get all the treasures yourself?” His voice is low, the open animosity clearly audible. “Isn’t that what you do for a living? _Rob people_?”

She counters with some chuckling of her own, causing Nick to stop in his tracks. “The Broker’s my best client. The largest part of the money I make comes from her. Me being caught tampering with her box? Not a risk I could ever take.”

“But if you found someone else who’d do the dirty work for you…” I snort, starting to understand.

The girl clicks her tongue. “ _Exactly_. If you loot the box, you’ll get back your precious booklet – and it shall be yours, with God’s blessing. Me on the other hand – and that’s my price for the secret –, I’ll get to keep all the other treasures contained in the box. I’ll hide them for a few weeks, then I’ll return them to the Broker, after ‘one of my secrets allowed me to track down the thief’. She’ll get her beloved treasures back – and I’ll receive a princely reward. Win-win-win, for all three of us.”

“You’re despicable,” Nick judges after a while, eying her with disdain.

“I’m a business woman,” the Parrot shrugs, “that’s all.” Taking a few steps towards us. “So what do you say? Does that sound like a deal?”

“I say brats like you should be put over a knee, not bargained with,” Nick growls.

No arguing that.

“It first and foremost sounds like an unfair deal,” I hiss, now getting up from the wooden box I was sitting on as well. “You’ll be getting far more from this than us. All the Broker’s treasures versus a few sorry pages of scribbled notes?” I snort. “And on top of that, we have to bear the entire risk.”

“Look,” El Loro crosses her arms. “You were the ones who broke my nose. I don’t _have_ to be here. I can just leave and you’ll never get back that oh so precious booklet of yours.”

_That little bitch._

“It’s only fair I receive some kind of compensation for my charity. Besides,” she shrugs, “considering how _desperate_ you are for that _few sorry pages of scribbled notes_ , I’m willing to bet its content means _everything_ to you.   _Everything_ compared to a bunch of rusty ol’ weapons…? Looks to me like _you’re_ actually the ones getting the most from this deal.”

It’s hard to say which one of us shoots her the more hostile glare, Nick or me. But no matter how much it sucks and how much I just wanna put that gun in my hand to good use, she does hold all the cards.

For a long time, Nick and I just look at each other, but no matter the anger and frustration we feel, the decision has already been made.

“One more thing,” El Loro interrupts our silent conversation, even without waiting for our decision. “If you do accept the deal, it basically makes you my clients as well, so I’m willing to help you with another warning.”

We both turn our eyes to her. _That arrogance…_

“It’s almost morning,” the girl starts. “The auction will begin in just a few hours. There’s a certain risk the Broker might head down to the warehouse anytime, in case one of the bidders wishes to inspect the goods beforehand. The only time she definitely won’t show up at the warehouse will be _during_ the auction. So that’s the timeframe I’d pick for the heist.” A shrug. “On the other hand, there’s no telling how long today’s auction will run. Once it’s over, the Broker will _definitely_ head down to get the goods for the buyers. You may know the number of her box, but you’ll still have to locate it amongst two thousands of other boxes…” She trails off. “All I’m saying is, if you came up with a way to prolong the auction or keep her occupied or distracted for some time…”

“Distracted?!” I shake my head. “How on earth are we supposed to do that?!”

“As a matter of fact…“ To my utter surprise, it’s actually Nick speaking. Hands in his pockets, he purses his lips as he turns to me with a reluctant look.  “I happen to know the perfect distraction…”

 

***

 

Unsurprisingly, I’m having trouble making up my mind about which part of this plan I like the least. Trusting on the words of some asshole chick who makes money on screwing people over, Nick and me splitting up during this crucial moment of our mission or me being forced to stay at the sidelines, my role reduced to playing bait for the villain while the actual critical job takes place somewhere entirely else.

I hate this. All of it.

And yet. I’m aware we’re running low on alternatives.

I barely make it to the Auction Hall in time. The entire Bazar is a freaking maze. I get lost twice. And it doesn’t help most of the signs are kept in Spanish. Damn those Mexicans. Think they’re the Gods of the World just because they hold this place. I’m almost relieved when I finally spot “Auction Hall” in strangely ornate characters above the glass folding doors I was pointed to. Can you believe it, I actually made it.

I push the door open, and feel like stepping into an entirely different world.

The Auction Hall looks nothing like the rest of El Bazar. Sure, the rundown adobe walls and ramshackle boards that are supposed to make for a ceiling are the same, the floor however is made of actual, unblemished tiles. The furniture is posh, noble and clean. There are about fifteen rows of cushioned chairs in the middle of the room, all facing towards a small stage, home to the auctioneer’s desk, no doubt. The lights on the wall have been dimmed, giving the entire place a mysterious, exclusive atmosphere. The heavy carpets under the chairs muffle the voices of the bidders already present, who are standing around chatting in smaller groups or sitting on the chairs in silence. I don’t eye them too long to not draw any unnecessary attention to myself, but instead just sit down on one of the chairs in the last row.

Simultaneously, the auctioneer – a white-bearded man that looks like all he was missing was a derby hat to pass off as the butler of the Queen of England – picks up his wooden hammer to demand everyone’s attention. The people still talking take their seats.

There’s a bit of introduction on the procedure of the actual auction. As the auctioneer explains the rules, my eyes end up following the two bulky security guards who now take position left and right of the stage. There’s more of them at the side of the hall, each one armed with a heavy machine gun, even though I guess those are rather for show than for actual use, unless they’d be risking to commit a massacre in here, soil the expensive carpet and most likely butcher the biggest part of the Broker’s usual clientele.

Speaking of the Broker. She’s made her appearance as well by now, sitting between her guards, taking some notes on a small pad on her lap. She occasionally lets her gaze roam the hall, but I’m not sure if she’s spotted me yet – not to mention I still have my doubts she’d even recognize me in the first place. Cause after all – and despite Nick’s resentful claims – she’s only seen me once, and that had just been my distorted mirror image in the shady darkness of the Hellhole.

So yeah… We’ll see how well that plan of ours will actually work out. If she doesn’t even recognize me, I swear I’ll just be outta here in an instant and engage in something _actually_ useful, like… oh yeah, _get the booklet back_.

Storage box no. 216… The secret intel El Loro sold us in exchange for the content of that very box.

The one Nick’s in the middle of locating at this very moment. I wonder how he’s doing. I hope he’s alright.

Suddenly, a movement next to me. I wince and blink. But it’s just the man sitting in my row. He’s raised his hand to bid. Oh, the auction is already in process.

The first lot for sale is a key to an actual, fully-operative military tank. Ha, seriously now?! Jesus, I’m almost tempted to bid as well. No wonder the dude next to me is so eager to get his hands on it. With each new price announced, he’s the first one to raise his hand. And after a few rounds of bidding, he actually wins. _Congratulations_.

Next item on the list is a collection of confidential documents on some guy named Proctor John. I’ve never heard of that name before, but apparently he must be quite a big deal around here, since the bids go up almost as high as the tank.

Third lot – I’m starting to get a little nervous by now, since how many items can there realistically be? – is a package of assorted drugs: heroin, cocaine, morphine, you name it. For a moment, I’m relieved, Nicky isn’t here with me – just to be reminded however that he’s actually in the middle of stealing exactly those items mentioned here, so he might well be holding the drug package in his hands right at this very moment…

“250 credits once, 250 credits twice, sold!” The auctioneer strikes the hammer. “The winner’s El Matarife.”

A rather plain man with glasses nods at the auctioneer, a pleased smile on his lips.

“Next item on our list…”

I hold my breath.

“…is a hand-written manual on the operation of a water pump in Texas… It contains the exact location as well as several pages of troubleshooting. Starting bid is 50 credits.”

Immediately, five people in the audience raise their hands.

_What?! Assholes_!! How dare you want to get your dirty claws on other people’s treasures!

Crossing my arms with displeasure and quietly growling to myself, I decide to not join in with the bidding yet. Too early to reveal my intentions.

We’re already at 400 credits – no idea if that’s a lot or not, but apparently it’s worth more than Proctor John’s documents, but less than the tank – there’s only two dudes in contention for it anymore. And fearing one of them might drop out soon as well, leaving the other one as the winner, I eventually clear my throat and raise my hand as well, bidding 450 credits.

Several people in the audience turn around to look at me, others throwing suspicious glances over their shoulders. Who is that stranger, who hasn’t bid on anything yet and now barges in out of nowhere?

Apparently, my surprise move has also caught the Broker’s attention. I notice she’s looked up from her notebook, now glancing at me across the room. The hall’s too dark for me to actually discern her expression (in all fairness, her skin color isn’t helping), but whether she recognizes me or not, she quickly turns her attention back to her notes.

500, 550, 600… The bidding goes on and on, and whereas my two opponents increasingly start sweating, I keep sitting here all relaxed, leisurely raising my hand at every new price that’s being announced. It’s easy to spend money you don’t even have. And surprisingly fun.

The other men, increasingly suffering through some kind of ordeal raising their trembling hands, start shooting me pained and angered looks, while I return their glances with the most sympathetic and friendly expression I can muster.

Right at that moment, however, my eyes accidentally dart back to the Broker, and I realize with uneasiness she’s now basically staring at me, pen frozen in her hands, eyes narrowed in a piercing glare. I catch myself wince for a second, fearing she might decide to intervene and call off my charade.

To my relief, however, she doesn’t. Her eyes linger on me, yes, but she doesn’t lift a finger.

  1. It’s just me now and one last guy, the one who looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.



700 and he drops out, wildly flailing his arms in frustration and shaking his crimson head with a loud snort. _Sorry, pal. Maybe next time._

“700 once, 700 twice, sold! To the gentleman with the dark shirt in the last row.”

_Gentleman_ , ha, no one’s ever called me that before. I’m actually amused by it for a moment, then I nod at the auctioneer.

I just won my very first auction – and sue me, but I just can’t keep myself from shooting the Broker a smug smirk. _So what are you gonna do about it, huh?_

 

***

 

Turns out, the booklet was the fourth and last lot on the auction list. So once the bidding is over, the dimmed lights in the auction hall are switched to full brightness, like at the movies, as the bidders who lost their auctions start heading off.

The guy who lost to me can’t bring himself to pass me without dropping some obscene insult, but I don’t even bother to look at him. It’s far more interesting to observe the spectacle that’s taking place now on the left side of the room: The winners have started queuing at what looks like some kind of ticket counter from a concert hall or an amusement park right by the door. Bulletproof glass protecting the cashier behind it. Again, armed guards positioning themselves left and right of the counter. The man they called El Matarife is just in the middle of paying – and as soon as the credits are accepted, I notice he’s handed some sort of receipt. A delivery voucher for the drugs he purchased, I assume.

Wonder how things went with Nick and box no. 216… Hopefully he’s done by now. Cause the way things look like, it’s only gonna be a matter of minutes now, until he’ll get company down by the warehouse…

“Cashier’s over there.”

I blink, as all of a sudden a shadow’s dropped on me. I raise my eyes, just to spot the Broker standing in the row before me. Arms crossed before her chest, face neutral. The lights in her back framing her figure almost give her an aura of divinity.

“Ah, thanks,” I reply, sounding just as casual as her. “I’ve been trying to decipher that sign above the counter for some time now, but I guess my eyesight really sucks. I know I should see my eye doctor sometime, but…” giving her an excusing smile, “what can I say, he’s dead.”

“Well,” she gives me a smile of fake friendliness. “Now that we cleared that up, why don’t you head over and pay your bill? I’m sure you can’t wait to finally get your hands on the precious booklet you want so badly, especially now that you fought for it so valiantly.”

Okay. She knows very well who I am. “You met my cousin.”

“Yeah, I met your cousin,” she confirms. “He’s a moron. I thought you might be different, but apparently that trait runs in the family.”

“Ah, Nick has always been the black sheep of our family,” I tell her with an excusing look. “Me on the other hand…”

“You just chased off a genuine buyer with that little charade of yours.”

“Charade?” I blink. “Oh, no, lady, you’re mistaken. I’m genuinely interested in the booklet.” It’s true. I reach into my pocket and act as if I was fishing for something. “Let me just quickly get my wallet and I’ll immediately give you–“

“Oh, cut the crap!” the Broker interrupts. “Look at you. You haven’t got any credits. You haven’t got any money!”

I stop, turning back to her. “Maybe not.” My eyes meet hers and I give her a defiant grin. “But I sure as hell got guts.”

She stares at me for a long time, then, all of a sudden, she lets out a scoff. “You sure as hell do.”

“Look,” I tell her, now finally getting up from my chair as well, and now it’s me, the one towering over her. “I’m sorry I meddled with your cute little Beagle Boys eBay. But you know how much that booklet means to us. I couldn’t just stand by and watch it fall into the wrong hands.”

She eyes me defiantly, not replying anything.

“I don’t have any credits, okay. But there’s more to life than just money, no?” Narrowing my eyes. “My cousin told me you’d be willing to negotiate. So here I am. Let’s negotiate.”

 

***

 

My God, it’s a veritable business this woman’s built up here.

I can hardly believe my eyes as she opens the door on the other side of the Auction Hall, unveiling the adherent office complex, corridor after corridor lined with doors.

I guess in the past these facilities must have served as the administration center of the bullfighting arena the Apocalypse transformed into El Bazar. It’s a huge compound. I spot at least three corridors, each with several offices to either side. No way all of this belongs to the Broker!

I don’t let it show how astonished I am by her headquarters, as I pass by the milky glass doors revealing people working inside as if it wasn’t actually the end of the world. I don’t wanna give her the satisfaction of seeing me impressed. Instead, I sternly follow her in silence, not bothering to start a conversation. It’s not like we’re alone anyway. One of the security guards follows us and I’m starting to wonder whether I’m actually a guest here or rather a prisoner.

Eventually, the Broker stops in front of a door tagged ‘Client Reception’. “Here we are,” she tells me, unlocking the door and inviting me to enter. “You wait outside.” An order to the security dude. Just great. There goes my plan to just stroll out of here unnoticed.

Well, whatever happens, I’m determined to let her start the conversation. I’m curious to see in which direction she’ll take it. In any case, no matter her intentions or goals, my objective is to make this drag, to make sure Nick gets as much time as possible to retrieve our booklet from the warehouse.

The room’s just as impressive as the Auction Hall. There’s a large wooden desk with a laptop at the far side of the room, a little living room suite with a couch and two chairs to our right. The entire place feels like a mixture of a fancy, posh parlor and a modern, pragmatic office.

The decoration that truly stuns me, however, are the glass vitrines lining both sides of the room. A dozen of them, easily. I guess it only makes sense for a person like the Broker to showcase their most valuable possessions. In the Old World, this may have been an expensive Rolex watch or famous paintings on the walls. In the New World, it’s _weapons_. Impressive ones, beautiful ones. I catch myself gaping at a shining Samurai sword, blade bright and stainless like silver. The handle ornate with delicate carvings. I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to wield a blade like this…

Next vitrine there’s a high-precision sniper rifle, one that by the looks of it had never been available on the regular market, but must definitely be military or even SWAT grade.

Then a long spear with some electronic device at the tip, like a taser. If this is to fry zombies, I’m in all the way.

“Impressive collection you got there,” I find myself saying, to my surprise even noticing honest admiration in my voice. Ah, fuck it! I’d been planning to let _her_ start the conversation! But those damn lovely rarities took me off-track.

“Thanks,” the Broker replies, grinning as she presents the room with a sweeping gesture. “They’re my capital stock, investment assets and life insurance.” And adding with a grin: “Not to mention I just love butchering those dead suckers.”

Hmh, makes her almost likeable.

“Took me years to collect them, and I assure you, they’re the finest of the finest. This gem over here,” she points at another one of the vitrines, a handy, but no doubt absolutely deadly dagger, “is over two-hundred years old, but sharper than any industrially produced blade you could get your hands on anywhere before the Fall.”

“Huh.” I step to the vitrine, gazing at the weapon. God, the irony of the situation! I’m alone with her in a room filled with deadly weapons. I could shoot or slash her with any of those in an instant. Thing is just – it’d probably take me a grenade launcher first to get through that no doubt rock-hard security glass.

So all I do shoot at her in the end is a grin. “I don’t suppose you’d let me inspect one of those treasures from close-up?” It’s worth giving it a try, but as to be expected, she’s no idiot.

“No,” she tells me, pursing her lips with regret. “But you can buy them, if you want to. Not that you have any money.” Expression turning into a coy grin. “But that’s what we’re working on here, no?”

She turns around and moves on, heading towards her desk. “How about a glass of wine?”

“I don’t drink,” I reply automatically, not looking up from the dagger.

“Huh?” she sounds disappointed. “Too bad.” There’s a rustling by the desk, then she turns around again. “I have to say, I was quite impressed,” she says, leaning back against the desk, crossing her arms before her chest. “You actually showing up here, I mean.”

I eventually manage to break free from the mesmerizing blade, raising my eyes to look at her.

She shrugs. “After all, I had quite the interesting exchange with your cousin…”

Interesting exchange? _Yeah, no doubt about that_ , I think sarcastically, but make sure my inside huff doesn’t show. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she starts playing with the hem of her sleeve. “For one, he hinted I might not be your type.”

Well, as a matter of fact, you aren’t. Aside from being a self-absorbed, capitalistic bitch, I’m not a huge fan of inter-racial relationships. I mean, it’s not like I’m a racist or anything, but honestly, who would even _want_ something like that in the first place? It’s not like there’s a shortage of possible mates from your own race after all, right?

Regardless of my attitude towards this, I have to keep playing along. It is the plan after all. So I shoot her a frown.

She shrugs. “He said you… preferred men.”

“Men?” I snort. “Seriously? That’s what he told you? That I was gay?”

She nods.

“That hypocrite…” I shake my head. “He’s the one who’s gay. And he’s into me. He’s living in his own world of delusions and it’s just what he wants to believe.” I snort, as I make my way over to her. “As I said, black sheep of the family.”

I immediately notice how clean and tidy her desk is. Despite all the powerful demeanor, she’s pedantic and a stickler for order. Her writing tools are neatly placed in line, her laptop closed. The only thing that stands out from this hell of perfection is a photo frame that’s lying face down on the desk. I wonder what or who it shows.

“And aside from your cousin?” The Broker looks at me curiously. “Any other jealous lovers I should be wary of?”

“Not anymore.” I turn my eyes back to her. “There was one, some time ago. The Apocalypse brought us together. The community I was living at took her and her family in when they were on the run. We had a lot in common and I thought we were meant to be forever. But,” I shrug, “in the end it didn’t work out and the story ended in heartbreak.”

Inwardly, I wince at my own words. Feels weird talking about my own relationship as if it were over.

“I get it,” the Broker replies, and to my surprise her gaze is distant, voice strangely pensive. “Better not lose your heart to anyone in the New World. It’s the only way to stay untouchable…” For a second, she grows quiet, lost in her own thoughts, until eventually she blinks and looks at me, and the moment of melancholy is replaced by a devious smirk.

“That’s why…” she starts, slowly sitting back on the desk, and involuntarily my gaze drops to the firm curve of her butt covered by the tight, shiny leather pants. Her hands reach for my shirt. Playfully I feel her fingers entangle in it. “I’ve decided to keep things casual. Have fun when there’s an occasion, with no strings attached.”

I catch her hands. “Sounds like a good way to go by.”

She chuckles. “Right?”

And all of a sudden, I feel her legs hook around my shins, tugging me closer with a jolt. I didn’t expect it, and slightly lose my balance for a second, involuntarily stabilizing myself with my hands on the desk – left and right of her hips.

Uh-oh.

She grins up at me with a blissful smile, dark eyes glistening with longing. Her fingers find the back of my neck, and slowly, gently almost, her lips meet mine.

The kiss is slow and deep, unlike the way Nick usually kisses me. Her lips feel strangely soft and unfamiliar against mine – I had no idea how that would feel like. I’d never kissed anyone but Nick.

Her other hand manages to find mine, slowly guiding it to her tight, leather pants covered butt.

_Oh boy…_ I catch myself holding my breath. I hate how my own body is starting to betray me.

She intensifies the kiss, suddenly pulling me down with her on the desk. Legs wrapping around my thighs, a soft moan escapes her lips. It’s a high-pitched, unfamiliar sound. And it jerks me back to reality like a cold shower.

My heart is aching for Nick. A wave of painful longing surges over me. All I want in this very moment is for him to wrap his arms around me, hold me tight and promise me we’ll never be apart. Nicky…

Instantly, I break free from the Broker, hastily standing up again, turning away so she can’t see me take a deep breath. “I think,” I mutter, taking a second to will myself to calm down, “I could use a glass of wine now after all.”

 

I feel her eyes on me, and without looking at her I know there’s displeasure on her face, considering I disrupted the moment so suddenly. “Fine,” she says to my surprise, sitting back up before sliding off the desk. “The longer the wait, the sweeter the thrill of anticipation, no?” She pushes past me to head for the little cabinet next to the desk. Bending down, she removes a bottle of wine and two glasses from it.

Quickly wiping over my mouth with the back of my hand, I let out an inward sigh. God, that was close. For the tiniest of seconds, I’d almost lost track of my mission. That can’t happen again. There’s so much at stake here, I can’t mess up.

Getting my head back in the game, I decide to take advantage of her turning her back to me. Hastily reaching for the face-down frame, I snatch it and take a peek at the photograph. To my surprise, it’s not just some dude, as I’d expected. There’s a guy, yeah, but there’s also her, or rather: Old World her. A rather plain young woman in a jeans jacket. And a little girl in her arms. All three of them smiling at the camera.

One glimpse is all it takes, and I know who she really is. I put the frame back on the desk, upright this time, as it should be.

She doesn’t notice as she turns back to me.

So she has a little daughter, I think to myself. Or probably rather, _had_. Since I can well imagine what happened to those other two smiling faces in that cute little picture…

We’re all slaves of our past, aren’t we? We turn into the monsters our past shapes us to become. I can see why she grew into the cold, opportunistic, zombie-hating bitch she is today.

_I just love butchering those dead suckers._

_Better not lose your heart to anyone. It’s the only way to stay untouchable._

Jesus, it all makes sense now. Maybe she’s exactly what I’d turn into myself if I lost Nick and our family. I may even be willing to feel sympathy for her for the tiniest of seconds. But considering the lives of my loved ones are exactly what’s at stake here – _nope_.

The ones we loved and lost are sacred to us. And I’m gonna use that against you.

“Thanks,” I reply with a suave smile, as I accept the wine glass from her. “To us?”

She returns the smile suggestively and is just about to clink glasses with me, when all of a sudden, there’s a knock on the door.

“Seriously now?” she growls. “Can’t those idiots stay quiet for even just a second?”

The knock is repeated.

“Yes?” she calls, annoyance in her voice clearly audible.

“Ma’am...” One of the security guards peeks inside. “There is something I need to tell you.”

“Spit it out,” she commands.

His eyes trail to me. Apparently he’s unsure whether he should say it with me around.

The Broker rolls her eyes. “For Christ’s sake, Laurent. Spit it out and then get the hell outta here.”

I notice him gulp. “Well, the thing is, we’ve caught someone fumbling with your storage box in the warehouse…”

 

For a second, the world stops around me. Nick! The words feel like a punch in my guts and I feel my face blush with panic. My God, no! They captured Nick?! The sudden worry in my heart make my hands grow sweaty.

“We were unsure how to proceed with him.”

Okay, okay, calm down, now. Don’t lose your head right now. Any rash action isn’t gonna help anyone. Least of all Nick. Besides, _unsure how to proceed with him_ means they haven’t done anything to him yet. Nicky’s fine.

“Again one of those pesky thieves?” the Broker growls, luckily not making any connection between the robbery attempt and me. I mean, of course, why would she? From all she knows, I’m here for the deal, so there wouldn’t be any reason for us to steal what will rightfully be mine before the end of the night anyway.

“Just lock him up. I’ll deal with him later,” she announces. “And now leave us alone. And don’t you dare disturb us a second time!”

He nods ruefully and hastily closes the door behind him.

The Broker turns back to me, the angered expression melting into a smile. “Sorry for the interruption, dear.” Raising the glass. “To us?”

I force myself to return the smile. Grin and bear it. I’ll find a way to get to him. And then we’ll retrieve the booklet together. We’ve managed to locate it once. We’ll manage a second time.

“To us.” I clink glasses with her, and no matter my conviction, I can’t avoid taking an actual sip right now. But Jesus Christ, it’s disgusting. It feels like swallowing a gulp of liquid rusty metal. The taste of the alcohol causes some horrifying image of my mother pop up before my inner eyes and I have to fight back the urge to just spit the wine out again.

But I don’t. I manage to down it and even shoot her a smile. “Hmh, delicious,” I comment, praying I don’t sound too sarcastic over this.

“You don’t like it, I can see it,” she chuckles, catching me by surprise. “It’s okay,” she shrugs, then suddenly I feel her fingers around my wrist. She tugs at it, nodding towards the sofa. “Let’s see if we find something else you like better.”

“Oh, I don’t have any doubt about that,” I reply. But then, all of a sudden, there’s the slightest change in my expression. “At least as long as you assure me I don’t have to be wary of that dude in the photo.”

She freezes as soon as I say this, then spins around, eyes immediately darting to the photo frame. She winces, as she notices it upright.

I expected her to lash out at me for invading her privacy. But surprisingly, she manages to keep her demeanor once again. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she replies, though her words feel a bit forced. Hastily, she grabs the frame and takes it into her hands, turning to one of the drawers to get it out of my sight. Keep her sacred loved ones safe from the mischievous eyes of a nameless lover.

_Better not lose your heart to anyone in the New World. It’s the only way to stay untouchable._

And yet. The ones we already lost our hearts to, will forever remain our weakness.

Because that one single moment of emotionality, of inattentiveness, is all I need to act.

She literally doesn‘t know what hit her as out of nowhere the wine bottle connects with the back of her head, shattering, engulfing her in a rain of wine and glistening shards. She collapses on the floor by the desk, then ends up lying there motionless.

_That’s why your parents warned you of strange men._

Crouching down next to her, I put my hand on her shoulder and turn her around, so I can see her face.

For a moment, I stare at her. She almost looks peaceful like this, as if she was merely asleep. Lines of red wine running down her flawless face like trails of blood, fingers loosely entangled in her gorgeous, messed-up hair.

I gaze down at her, and smile. For the first time, I think she’s beautiful.

 

***

 

I only get a second for that thought though, since no doubt the loud shattering of glass must have alerted the guard outside. In the light of my lack of options, I let out an exaggerated, playful giggle. “Holy shit, holy shit,” I gasp, making sure it sounds hushed, but is still loud enough for the guard to hear. “You sure are a wild one, aren’tcha, love…” Giggling again. “Oh, _hush_ yourself! No, wait a sec, I’ll get us something to clean that up…”

I’m still babbling on with my fake dialogue, when I spill the rest of the wine contained in the half of the broken bottle I’m still clutching in my hands over my own shirt. Then quickly make my way to the door, opening it a bit to peek outside.

The guard – just as expected still standing right in front of the door – has turned around, looking at me with a suspicious glare.

“Sorry,” I say, squeezing through the door crack. I shoot him a glance I pray passes off as embarrassed. Then I point at my wine-stained shirt. “Where exactly is the bathroom?”

“What’s going on in there?” the man wants to know.

“Well,” I clear my throat, “we may have _accidentally_ shoved the wine bottle off the desk… We weren’t…” raising my eyebrows in a macho way, “paying attention… You know…” For a second I consider giving him a palsy elbow dig in the ribs, but I fear he’d hit me if I did. _Gosh, I suck at this…_

The guard pushes past me, reaching for the door handle.

“Ah, ah, ah,” I stop him, blocking his way. “Have some decency! She’s your boss,” I reprimand him. “Sorry I have to keep you waiting, love,” I call over my shoulder instead. “But your _nosey_ employee here…”

“Fine,” the man growls.

I turn back to him with a fake smile of gratitude, stealthily pulling the door shut.

“I’ll take you to the bathroom.”

Meh, figured. But I guess it’s better than nothing. Take one step at a time. You took out the Broker. You’ll take out that asshole, too.

Grabbing my arm as if this were some kind of prisoner transport, he leads me down the corridor, past more offices, a tea kitchen, a conference room. Eventually, we stop in front of the men’s bathroom.

“Make it quick.”

“Hell, yeah,” I reply, conjuring up some chauvinist grin. “I’d be an idiot if I didn’t make sure to get back in there as soon as I can, if you know what I mean…” Wink, wink.

Then I push open the bathroom door, hurrying inside. The grin on my face immediately turns upside-down. _Gooosh, I hate this_. A miracle he didn’t punch me yet for just being like this. I’m not sure if I could have stopped myself from doing it, if I’d been confronted with an asshole like that.

Well, no time to dwell on this. Nick’s in danger! Hastily, I let my eyes roam around the room, searching for something, anything that could help me in my current situation. But there’s nothing. It’s just an ordinary bathroom after all. Two stalls with nothing inside but the usual equipment, two urinals, two washbowls. I open one of the faucets, to give my guard the impression I was actually in the middle of cleaning my shirt.

Right at that moment, my eyes drop to the basically only item that’s removable – and may actually be of an acceptable solidity and weight to make for a decent weapon. The expensive, steel soap dispenser. Picking it up, I weigh it in my hand. Well, not quite a brick and certainly not my weapon of choice, but yeah… about that thing with the choices…

I turn off the water again, then head back for the door, the soap dispenser safely hidden behind my back. I open the door – thank God there’s no one else in the corridor – and grin at the guard. “Sticky little shit,” I growl, nodding at my shirt. “But I guess it’ll do. It’s not like I’m planning on keeping that on for too long anyway…”

It’s that tiny split second the guard’s eyes actually trail down my shirt to inspect the result of my cleaning, that turns out to be the fatal one.

Winding up, I smash the soap dispenser against his temple, fast and hard, as hard as I can. The man doesn’t stand a chance, but collapses instantly.

I manage to catch him, thankfully. Cause picking him up again would have been a hassle. Maneuvering him into the bathroom, I eventually set him down on the toilet bowl in one of the stalls. Not because I actually think the stall door would hold him long if he came back to his senses. It’s rather to make sure he won’t immediately be spotted by the next best office intern slurping inside to take a piss.

Then I’m back outside on the corridor. I got to options now on how to act. In the end, I choose strolling down the hall confidently over sneaking around suspiciously, since the few plot plants on my way wouldn’t have been able to provide sufficient cover anyway if anyone were to come by me in the first place. Walk like you got a purpose here.

And I mean, I do. I have to find my captured boyfriend.

So far, the corridor’s empty. Through the milky glass of the office doors, I spot the silhouettes of people sitting at desks, looking at computer screens. I’m starting to wonder if the auctioning business is actually all the Broker is involved in. Surely, it couldn’t take that many people to process a few illegal deals, could it?

Well, whatever. It’s not like we’re ever planning on crossing paths with the Broker ever again once we managed to get our hands on the booklet and hauled ass.

_Nick._

Involuntarily, I pick up my pace. How long will it take until the Broker and her guard regain their consciousness? Considering the blows they’ve both taken, I’d be willing to bet they’re still pretty fast asleep. But can I really know for sure?

More offices. Fuck this. But it’s not like I was expecting one of the tags by the doors to suddenly read “Prison Cell”. Where the hell would _I_ lock up some delinquent asshole in an office complex?

Passing another room. “Broom Closet”. Nah, too small. But if I came across some sort of storage room or…

As soon as I spot the next tag, I stop in my tracks. I know I’ve found what I’ve been looking for.

My eyes are glued to the tag by the door. The boiler room.

 

***

 

The door’s unlocked. And as soon as I push inside, I realize why.

The prisoner locked up inside is sitting on the floor, back leaning against the wall. His hands are handcuffed and chained to a water pipe above him. He couldn’t get away, even if he wanted to. There was no need to lock the door.

Seeing Nick again – and unharmed apparently –, makes my heart skip a beat with joy and relief. Seeing him chained up like this, breaks my heart.

I’m on my knees by his side in an instant.

“Nicky,” I whisper, cupping his cheek with my hand. “Nick! Are you alright?!”

He blinks at me with disbelief. “Troy… What are you doing here? How did you find me?!”

“They said a thief had been taken captive down by the warehouse,” I explain quickly, before letting out a sigh. “I was _so_ worried… Did they hurt you?!”

I’m hastily scanning my boyfriend for apparent injuries. Aside from a black eye – he must have put up quite a fight – he seems alright.

“I’m fine, Tee, don’t worry about me,” Nick replies quickly, before sucking in a sharp breath. “What about yourself?! Jesus, you’re bleeding…”

I notice him stare at my stained shirt in shock.

“It’s just wine, Nicky,” I reassure him. “I’m alright.”

That evokes a little smile of relief from him, a look that surges me with warmth. God, I missed him _so much_! Every second we were apart. Every second I was with the Broker. Every second I felt that horribly wrong kiss on my mouth. For a moment, all the pain and insecurity from before surges over me, and I can’t help leaning in to him, pressing my lips against his, fervently, desperately. And it feels so good. So right again. I feel like a lost voyager in the desert, finally finding precious water.

I catch myself smiling against his lips. I don’t want to break away, not ever.

But I have to. Time is running out.

Nick lets out a breathless chuckle as I break away. “Oh, Troy, I’ve missed you so much. I was so worried…” he starts, as I reach up, inspecting the shackles. The quiet clinking of the chain starts mixing with his words. “You, the Broker…” Eyes trailing back down to my shirt. “And red wine apparently… I just… I think I know now how you felt at the Hellhole.”

“Yeah, doesn’t feel so nice, does it?” I comment quietly as I keep fumbling with the locks. Nothing. Frustrated, I sit back on my heels, meeting his eyes. “Just FYI though, I whacked her over the head with a bottle of wine.” Cracking up a wry grin.

Nick just holds my eyes for a long while with an unreadable expression, and as I think he’s just about to counter something, he reaches forward, the chain just about long enough for him to touch me, takes my face in his hands, and catches my lips in the most heartfelt kiss.

I’ve been holding my breath in surprise, slowly exhaling once he lets go of me again. Almost a little embarrassed by this reward, I’m quick to focus back on the handcuffs. “Damn,” I complain. “No safety catch.”

I hear Nick let out a quiet snort. “Well, that would be galactically stupid, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Bloody hell,” is all I comment, even though – despite all the tension – I can’t hold back a little snicker myself. I’m trying to tear the handcuffs open by sheer force now, but the fucking metal doesn’t budge an inch. Maybe I can break the water pipe?

“That’s useless, I’ve tried before,” Nick informs me. “Trust me, if someone were to drop a bomb on this entire place, the only part left standing of El Bazar would be this little piece of wall with the fucking water pipe… I fear without the key…”

“Yeah, that’s currently unavailable…” I gnarl. Then, however, another thought crosses my mind. Maybe not a bomb, but… “The gun?!” I look at him.

But Nick purses his lips and shakes his head. “They took it when they caught me…”

“Naturally…” I sigh, giving up on the shackles. A bit crestfallen, I sit back down on my heels. “And I don’t assume you know where they took the booklet?”

Yeah, we’re never gonna make it. I can’t manage to break these fucking chains, and even if I did… how should we get away? And how on earth would we be supposed retrieve the booklet now that they caught Nick trying to steal it? Now that they know we’re coming?! It’s hopeless. It’s a futile struggle…

A smirk.

I blink, staring at Nick in confusion. Why the hell is he smiling? Not daring to get my hopes up, I frown.

“The booklet is ours,” he informs me darkly.

I hold his eyes, speechless. I almost can’t manage to utter a word and my voice breaks as I do. “How?!” Shaking my head. “You still have it with you?”

“No,” Nick counters. “But I got something else with me. Something the birdie would like. A _secret_.”

I still don’t understand where he’s going with this. I feel relief and joy wallowing up inside of me, but at the same time, I’m still waiting for a catch as long as the puzzle pieces don’t yet fall into place.

Nick’s grin widens as he holds my gaze. Then he says it. “My secret is: 552.” A pause, then a snicker. “They were too late.”

It takes me a few blinks to understand, but all of a sudden I do. And the meaning of his words, the simple brilliancy of his move sends a wave of happiness, of sheer and utter blissfulness through my body. The booklet is out of their reach, out of _everyone’s_ reach. No one will ever find it. Except for us. We beat the Broker at her own game.

Now it’s my turn again, grabbing Nick’s face and putting all my joy, all my relief and all my love for this amazing, wonderful person into just one kiss.

There’s a sparkle in his eyes as we break away. For a second, we’re both enjoying the high of being victorious, the high of getting our most valuable treasure back.

Then Nick’s smile starts fading. “Still… If we can’t get out of here…”

“Like hell. We will,” I counter, voice suddenly confident and strong. This unexpected turn of events has restored my hope, returned my confidence, relit my fire. “Do those assholes really think they can mess with us?!”

With determination in my eyes, I get on my feet, turn around and head outside, back into the corridor. Nick played his part. Now it’s my turn. And I know exactly what I have to do.

Shielding my arm with the sleeve of my shirt, I smash in the thin glass pane covering the fire alarm station. I grab the emergency axe, then pull the lever.

And at the Broker’s lair, all hell breaks loose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, it's been a while! I hope you're all fine! Sorry for the radio silence.  
> My Trick writing has been on hiatus for a while now, but my unfinished stories have been bugging me, especially since on many of them there are just one or two chapters left to tell anyway.  
> So here's me trying to tie up a few of the loose ends!
> 
> I'm not sure anyone is even still interested in this story in the first place. But in case someone is, here we go with the finale. Hope you'll enjoy it and have fun reading!

*** Nick ***

I jump with fright, as all of a sudden an eardrum-shattering alarm disrupts the silence, a relentless howling blaring through the halls and corridors of the Broker’s headquarters.

_Fuck, they noticed us!_ , is the first clear thought that comes to my mind, my temporary relief at being reunited with Troy crumbling to dust in an instant.

I feel cold sweat forming on my forehead. They’re coming for us – and I’m still chained to this frickin’ water pipe! Jolting at the handcuffs out of sheer desperation, but even the rattling of the chain gets drowned out by the shrill alarm.

Where the hell did Troy go?

Damn it!! And screw this FREAKING CHAIN!!!

Rattling and pulling at it like crazy.

Right at that moment, the door to my prison opens once more, and on the threshold a dark silhouette against the lights of the corridor, the frame so familiar I’d recognize it anywhere.

“Troy!” I croak, hands growing still as I look up at him, crestfallen. “They sounded the alarm!”

“ _I_ sounded the alarm,” Troy corrects me, shutting the door behind him. Shady darkness engulfing us once again.

In the dim twilight of the boiler room, I realize with bewilderment he’s carrying an axe.

“Have you lost your mind?” I hiss at him, face suddenly darkening. “You’ve riled up the entire place!”

“We need noise,” he informs me bluntly, “to cover up more noise.” He clutches the shaft of the axe with both hands, raising it. Nodding at me. “Hands against the wall.”

Wait, _what_?! “Are you outta your fricking mind?!” I snap, a bead of sweat now running down my temple.

Troy comes closer. “Hands against the wall,” repeats the axe-carrying madman with the blood-soaked shirt (wine-soaked in all fairness, but hey).

“Dear God,” I hiss, gulping hard as I turn around on my knees. Hands trembling, I put my palms on the bricks of the wall – a cool sensation against my skin, and strangely in such stark contrast to the situation we’re in, the noise and the chaos that’s just about to ensue outside. “Holy freaking shit…” I mumble, stretching the chain of the handcuffs between my hands.

Troy positions himself next to me, raising the axe.

It’s so dark, even I myself can hardly spot the chain on the wall. How on earth should he?

_Jesus Christ in Heaven… If you do exist, please don’t let him miss…_ With a racing heart, I squint my eyes shut, trying to block out any thought or fear or doubt, concentrating only on the sound of my own pulse throbbing in my ears.

I clench my hands into fists last second, struck by the sudden fear my boyfriend might accidentally end up chopping off a few of my fingers along with the chain.

A sharp flow of air touches my cheek – him swinging the axe –, so immediate and cold the blade must have passed my face by just an inch, then a bloodcurdling metal clinking resounds from the wall, sending a jolt through my entire body.

“Fuck!” Troy curses, raising the axe once more.

The blade has slipped off the chain instead of cutting it in half.

A second swing – I can’t help bracing myself for the worst once more – but this time, the metal clinking sounds much more promising.

I feel my hands break free, and as I finally dare to reopen my eyes, I spot the ends of the chain loosely dangling from the cuffs around my wrists.

“You did it,” I hiss breathlessly, staring at the broken chain with wide eyes, and whether I said it to praise him or rather just to calm myself I can’t tell.

Shakily, I stagger on my feet, my legs aching from the kneeling.

“Yeah,” Troy breathes, setting the axe down, and as I turn to him – finally on eye level again – I notice the paleness in his face. Jesus, he was more scared of this than me…

“Great job,” I insist, giving him an encouraging clap on the shoulder to boost his confidence. Cause considering what’s by now going on out there on the corridor, we’re gonna need a lot of it.

 

Through the small milky window pane of the boiler room door we spot shadows rushing by, one by one, and with each one of them my heart skips a beat, convinced that this one will finally be the one to stop right in front of our room, pull the door open and expose us to the eyes of everyone.

“They’ll come for me,” I whisper, turning around for the axe, when suddenly I feel Troy’s grip around my arm.

“No.”

The alarm goes on blaring, unfazed.

“They think a fire’s broken out,” Troy reminds me, looking at me with conviction. “Some asshole who robbed them is the last person they care about right now.”

I hold his gaze for a while, searching his eyes for a clue on what makes him so certain of this. “But they’ll definitely look after their boss, to make sure she gets to safety.”

Troy’s eyes dart back to the door’s small window. “Let’s pray they leave that job to her bodyguard… Come on.” With a wave of his hand, he sneaks over to the door, positioning himself on the side.

I follow him reluctantly, warily eyeing the shadows as they pass by our hideout. “How would that make it any better?” I whisper.

Troy shoots me a look and – despite our situation – for the tiniest of seconds I actually spot a flicker of pride in them. “Well, let’s just say he’s sort of out of order as well…”

BRRRRRR, the alarm keeps resounding through the entire compound, and eventually the commotion outside our door dies down.

Troy and I keep staring at the window pane, both holding our breaths for no reason at all.

“Do you think that was the last of them?” I whisper, uncertain.

Troy doesn’t reply, just keeps his eyes fixed on the door.

For several more blinks, nothing happens.

“It’s our chance,” I hiss, some irrational voice inside my heart suddenly going _Now! Now or never!_

“Yeah,” Troy whispers, eyes darting to me for a second, we share a silent nod.

I grab the door handle, slowly push it down. Opening a tiny crack, just enough to peek outside.

The corridor seems abandoned, though the blaring alarm drowns out any footsteps that might give away anyone who’s just about to turn round the corner.

“Let’s go for it,” I hiss, shooting one last look of confirmation at Troy over my shoulder, before stepping into the hall.

Involuntarily, I shudder, suddenly feeling strangely vulnerable and exposed out here in the open. Then however, I notice Troy’s hand on my arm, an encouragement. _We got this. Move!_

And move is what I do.

The corridors and halls of the Broker’s headquarters are a freaking maze, and yet I memorized every turn we took earlier, when her henchmen dragged me to my prison cell.

Left, left, right. Now in reverse order.

If we’re lucky enough not to run into anyone now, we can actually make it.

Troy following closely on my heels, we make our way through the corridors, the metallic alarm camouflaging our steps as much as it would our enemies’. You’re really not aware of how much you depend on your hearing until you’re deprived of it.

We’re half sneaking, half jogging through the halls, taking cover at each of the corners to make sure we don’t accidentally run into our enemies’ open arms.

Maybe the people working here have actually bought the fire alarm ploy after all. Maybe they haven’t noticed their boss’s absence yet. Maybe we have the advantage on our side that most of the staff here may not even have heard of the prisoner in the boiler room, the mystery guest in the Broker’s office, or the robbery at the warehouse yet. Maybe for them today’s just a day like any other – so why should they suspect a simple fire alarm to be a distraction for a hostile getaway?

We’ve reached the final door of the office complex.

Troy’s the one to open it – and seconds later we’re standing in the middle of the big auction hall. Once again the place is abandoned, but through the fancy glass double door leading back into El Bazar we can see the staff standing around in little groups, chatting.

Of course. The fire alarm required them to head outside. They’re waiting for the all-clear signal, then they’ll go back to work.

“Over here,” Troy calls, hastily beckoning me to follow him. Crouched, he hurries for a small door at the right side of the hall, marked as “Cashier’s counter”. The door to the tiny room is unlocked, and we’re quick to seek shelter inside.

“This is where the bidders pay after the auction,” Troy informs me with a whisper as we’re taking cover behind the counter. “The cash box’s gone,” he notices with a quick glance on the counter. “They probably didn’t wait long to transfer the money someplace else. We should be safe here.”

“Just for how long?” I counter, unable to hide my skepticism.

Troy leans in closer. “Once the alarm shuts down,” he whispers, “and the staff heads back to their offices, our path will be clear.”

“As long as they don’t suspect a ploy,” I remind him, now also daring to take a quick glimpse over the counter into the auction hall. “Fuck!” I hiss, hastily getting back down.

Troy’s eyes widen. _What?!_

“Guards heading inside.”

Biting on his lower lip, Troy curses. “They must have noticed the Broker and her bodyguard haven’t come out yet…”

And that means we’re trapped. Cause as soon as they run into their knocked-out boss, they’ll immediately start shutting down the entire place, this time for real. And start searching for the fugitives.

We realize this at the exact same time, our eyes meeting with panicked gazes.

Troy mouths a slow _What are we gonna do?,_ when all of a sudden, and for the first time in this entire freaking nightmare, we actually have Lady Luck on our side.

Unexpectedly, the alarm dies down. Whether turned off by someone or simply because none of the systems were able to confirm any sources of smoke after all, we have no idea.

But from one second to the next, the entire complex is plunged in silence. And after minutes of eardrum-shattering blaring, the quietness actually feels as unsettling as the noise, leaving us with the feeling of cotton wool blocking our ears.

The double doors fly open – and the staff immediately start heading back inside, past the cashier’s counter, without even paying it any attention, chatting merrily without the slightest hint of suspicion.

Troy and I are holding our breaths as we crouch on the floor behind the counter, praying for them to walk by as if there were nothing but a horde of mindless walkers.

With stealth glances we eventually observe the last person vanishing towards the offices.

And without wasting another second – forgetting all about stealth – we jump to our feet, turn around the counter and run for the exit as if our lives depended on it.

They do.

 

***

 

The doors of the auction hall fall shut behind us, but hell, it’s far too soon to exhale.

Rushing on, we immediately plunge into the buzzing crowd populating El Bazar. At least for now we’re safe – and yet, we can’t afford to waste even just a second.

The guards we spotted heading back inside were looking for their boss. Even with the fire alarm gone, it’s only a matter of time until they’ll find her, notice the vanished guest and the empty boiler room, and the next alarm resounding through the complex will be for us.

We don’t have much time to get to the warehouse, retrieve the auction goods and the booklet from box number 552 and get the hell outta this freaking nightmare.

Jesus, we’ve come so far… We can’t afford to lose now.

Hastily, Troy and I make our way through the shady tunnels of El Bazar, passing by market stands with questionable goods, breaking free from beggars grabbing us, pushing past half-naked girls keen on making a few credits, and threading our way through clusters of dubious clients, looking for anything that might make post-apocalyptic easier or at least a tiny bit more bearable.

Passing by a small room with its door ajar, I spot a bunch of hanged men from the corner of my eyes. One of them has already started moving again.

I don’t know why, but the shocking sight gives me a sting in the heart, and without wanting to, I reach for Troy’s hand.

Surprised, he shoots me a look over his shoulder, assuming I just wanted to make sure we don’t get separated, and I muster an encouraging nod to give him no reason to doubt that.

I’m also clutching the loose ends of my handcuffs with my hands, hiding the chains out of the irrational fear they might raise suspicion. Irrational indeed, because it’s not like anyone cares. It’s not like anyone cares about Troy’s wine-soaked shirt – no matter it makes him look like he just returned from a killing spree.

Another staircase down, then we’ve finally made it to the huge storage hall once again, the one filled with masses of stacked numbered boxes, each one of them containing… God knows what.

We do know what box number 552 contains, and with trembling legs I try to retrace my steps from earlier, try to find the box we’re looking for as fast as possible.

It takes me longer than expected. When I’d retrieved the goods along with our booklet from the Broker’s box earlier, I’d heard the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall, and known right away it would be the Broker’s men. I knew they’d catch me – so I shoved the goods into the next-best unlocked box, just to get the goods to safety. But I’d been agitated and nervous, so I may not have memorized the box’s location as well as I should have.

Finally, I’ve found the right corridor between the endless walls of boxes again, but as we stand in front of number 552, I fear we’ve lost precious seconds.

After a quick movement of my hands, the latch snaps open, revealing the box’s precious content. The bag containing the goods.

Troy lets out a long sigh of relief as he grabs it and immediately checks the inside. There it is, our booklet. The most precious belonging we possess. It’s finally, _finally_ back in our hands. And we’re not going to lose it ever again.

For a short moment, Troy’s eyes meet mine over the bag – and there’s actually a smile on his face – shining weakly from tired eyes, past the dirty, sweaty skin, the sullied clothes, the messed-up hair. I know I don’t look any less beat. The things we’ve been through just to get our hands back on this…

It demanded a great deal of us. And yet, we made it.

I return the smile.

We needed this moment so much, this one second enjoying our victory. And yet, it was the one second we didn’t have.

As soon as we hear the footsteps, it’s already too late. The Broker’s guards have appeared on either side of the narrow corridor between the boxes.

With shock, Troy and I wince.

A person emerges from the guards. Wearing a bandage around her head, her top as wine-stained as Troy’s. Even though in her case it may actually be blood. But despite the damage she took, her eyes are still sharp and piercing. The Broker.

In her hands she’s holding some kind of weapon I’ve never seen before. A long spear, but with some sort of taser for a tip.

“I have to admit,” she says, as she comes towards us. “I’m impressed. You’ve really made it far, with that little charade of yours. However, as much as it pains me, that little intermezzo has to come to an end now.” She stops several steps away from us. “As they say, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…” She takes an absentminded look at her spear. “Well…”

 

Damn it, they got us! And now of all times, when we’ve just gotten back the booklet, and all that would have been left for us to do is get out of this freaking place as fast as possible.

Now, we’ve _really_ fallen into the Broker’s hands, both of us. And with no one else on the outside, who would ever come to our rescue?

Sucking in a sharp breath, I peek over my shoulder. No use. Her men have blocked the way on either side. We’re surrounded. Well, at least if you don’t consider climbing the boxes an option. But how would that work? The smaller boxes might be too instable. The large containers on the other hand are pretty high… and perfectly even.

The Broker’s taken another step towards us. “My goods,” she demands, bracing her spear. “Hand them over.”

I counter her gaze. “Careful with that thing, love,” I taunt, since acting strong towards her, not let our desperateness show, seems about the only option we have at the moment. “You wouldn’t want to accidentally hurt yourself.”

“We’ll see who’ll end up getting hurt,” she barks, face even darker than it already is anyway (pun intended – sorry for that. But I guess Troy’s been rubbing off a bit on me over the years).

Speaking of Troy. I’m actually surprised he isn’t hurling any menacing threats at her by now. He’s usually not the hesitant type when it comes to insulting people. But when I glance at him from the corner of my eyes, all he does is stand there, looking at her, like a deer caught in the headlights.

_Damn it, Troy! What’s wrong with you?! I can’t do this on my own!_

“Hand over the goods,” the Broker repeats, and now almost has us within reach of her spear. Her voice sounds absolute. “I won’t say it again.”

Some shiny item next to me catches my eyes. I don’t have time to think of the consequences. I make my move.

Then everything happens very fast.

“No, you won’t,” I agree, then spin round, fast as a snake, grabbing the metal handle of one of the boxes stacked to our left, pull it out – and the huge wall of stacked boxes collapses like a house of cards.

It was a hot-headed action. I’d hoped for the boxes to bury the Broker, maybe open up a new path for us to get away from her and the guards.

But oh, have I underestimated the weight of all those boxes and their ominous content…

A few dozen boxes come raining down on all three of us, some as small as a brick, others huge as a barrel. The last thing I observe is one of them smashing right through the brittle wooden floor mere inches from me. With a gut-wrenching panic, I feel the structure under my feet give in – and I find myself falling down into the darkness as well.

I did open us a new path. Just not a horizontal one.

 

*** Troy ***

 

Two floors. That’s how deep we fell when the collapsing boxes smashed the ground under our feet.

The impact was hard, even though we didn’t land on pure concrete. The texture under my aching body feels strangely padded, like shred wood, or maybe even… hay?

“Troy…”

Suddenly, a hand on my arm.

I blink, my vision only gradually returning to me. It’s Nick’s face looking down at me, pale and dusty and bruised, the bandage over his collarbone now once again soaked with blood. And yet, there’s resolve in his eyes, determination even. He’s a fighter. I love him for it.

“Troy, you alright?” he hisses, helping me sit up.

Am I? I have no idea.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, despite of it.

Disoriented, I take a look around me. The catacombs we’ve landed in must have served as some kind of stables for the bulls that used to be driven into the arena El Bazar was before the world ended. Though in all honesty, all the moldy hay and shattered wooden fences around us can only make you guess at what this place used to look like in the old days. The torn-apart, degenerated cadavers of cow-like creatures though leave no doubt about the former purpose of this place. The stench is nauseating.

“Sorry,” Nick goes on. “I didn’t know what else to do…”

He gets up from the ground, offering me his hand. I flick the bag with the goods over my shoulder, then take it and let him pull me to my feet as well.

“No, it was quick thinking,” I insist. “They would have caught us if you hadn’t acted.”

He keeps looking at me, waiting, as if he wanted me to go on, explain my own passiveness.

But I don’t, I _can’t_. Truth is, I have no idea what the hell was wrong with me up there. I should have been the one to come up with an escape plan, be a reliable ally to Nick, fight for our cause… And not just stand there and gape at some chick like I’d never seen one before in my life.

I can’t explain what had been going through my head when I saw her again. But for a second, the moments with the Broker in her office had come to life again so vividly… The light reflected in her mesmerizing dark eyes, her scent, her closeness… Even that perfect image of her on the ground unconscious, as if she’d just fallen into a long, peaceful sleep.

When suddenly she’d appeared between the boxes in the warehouse, it had felt like an image from a dream actually materializing right before my eyes.

It’s so stupid. I feel ashamed of it. But it’s nothing that would even just be worth mentioning. It’s over and done with.

Especially now, with that taser suddenly springing out of the darkness, stopping only an inch away from Nick’s neck.

“Cut the fucking crap,” a menacing voice growls, and I back away, as dark eyes lock on me. This time, however, they leave me cold.

“Do you wanna get us all killed?!” the Broker barks. “For the last time, hand me the goods!” Then with a lower voice: “Or I swear to God, I’ll fry you alive.”

“Go ahead,” Nick replies, standing perfectly still even in the face of death. “Kill me, and he’ll kill you. You’re the one that’s outnumbered.”

“I’m the one with the weapon,” she reminds him, digging the (thankfully turned off) taser into his skin. “Hand me the bag.” That is directed at me.

I don’t meet her eyes. Something else has caught my attention. Something in the blurred darkness, behind her…

“Or…” I say, eyes now darting to her, “since you’re the one with the weapon, you help us get outta here, fight the dead down here…” A shrug. “And as a token of our gratitude, we let you have the goods.”

“Pff!” A laughter, a bit too shrill for the deadly silence around us. “How stupid do you think I am? As if you wouldn’t take off with that bag the first chance you get.”

She does have a point.

“Besides,” she snorts superiorly. “Which dead?”

Well, I do have a point, too. “Like the one just creeping up at you from behind.”

She holds my eyes, her face petrifying. She would never fall for a trick like that, but my voice was so convincing… Of course it was. I told the truth.

It must have been a rustling of cloth in the end after all, or maybe the chilling scent of death, but last second, the Broker spins round, activating the taser with a flip of her thumb – I noticed there’s two markings “min” and “max” on the control switch, but she pushes it beyond the max. That freaking shit has been tuned!

The taser connects with the dead man’s face, his body starting to jerk uncontrollably, then the corpse collapses and comes to rest on the ground, perfectly still, and little wades of smoke emerge from his eyes and nose.

Holy shit! That thing literally just fried his brain! I don’t even know whether I should be shocked or thrilled…

Nick of course goes for the former. He’s by my side in a second, using the first opportunity to get away from his captor. And once again he’s the one with the quick thinking: hand flying forward like a snake catching a mouse, he’s grabbed the hayfork stuck in one of the dead bull’s head right next to us.

I immediately look around me as well, searching for a weapon myself, but all I can come up with on the fly is a splintered stake of wood I break off one of the former fences for the animals.

Well, it’s better than nothing. Cause now the Broker’s not the only one with a weapon anymore.

We could have really had a chance to overwhelm her, if it weren’t for all those other dead suckers I’ve practically summoned with my words to the Broker, shuffling silhouettes, creeping shadows that suddenly start coming to life all around us.

_Fuck it_! Every obstacle we overcome seems to branch into three new ones.

A groaning right next to me. I spin round, plunging the splintered end of the stake into a teenage boy’s head. A Mexican kid with a beauty mark next to his left eye, wearing rugged clothes that may once have been the uniform of a stable boy.

Nick and the Broker are engaging with opponents of their own.

“Damn,” I hear the Broker hiss.

“So now you’re considering teaming up after all?” I call her over my shoulder.

“Team up?” she replies, frying yet another walker. “You whacked me over the head with a freaking _wine bottle_! It’s a miracle I didn’t die.”

I shrug, ducking under the arms of another dead person. “It’s not like that would have been such a bad thing for the world.”

“Says the bloody thief,” she snaps.

“Says the greedy bitch,” I hurl back.

“Okay, okay!” It’s Nick who eventually buts in. “We all wanna go for each other’s throats, I get it.” Driving his hayfork into another dead kid’s belly. “But let’s save it for after the horde, okay?”

He’s right. It’s the simplest way to make allies in the New World. Cause in the end, it’s always us versus them.

The living versus the dead.

 

They seem to emerge from everywhere, former workers at the stables, toreros even, some of them still carrying their elaborate capotes, now all red for an entirely different reason.

One dead bastard has been pierced by the horns of a now also dead bull, flailing helplessly, but the horns keep him in place. We fight with everything we have, Nick wielding his hayfork with blood spraying around him, the Broker gaining high ground on one of the containers from the warehouse, the bandages around her head staring to come loose as she fries every walker that tries to get to her.

I may be the one struggling the most, I’m the only one without a long range weapon, or proper weapon in the first place, and neither is mine especially pointy nor high-tech.

For every dead asshole I slay, a bunch of new ones spawn someplace else. They seem to multiply, and I find myself retreating more and more. Rotten teeth, cold trembling hands – the dead are coming for me from every direction. Wildly, I thrust the stake for anything within my reach, but with that sorry little stick in my hands, I rather feel like a little kid facing a horde of bears with a wooden sword.

Eventually, I’ve been forced back as far as the door to the adjacent room, and I consider taking shelter in there for a second, regain my strength, maybe even find a better weapon. I shoot a quick look over my shoulder. The other room’s easily as huge as this one, probably another part of the stables, but full of nooks and crannies. From here, I can’t even make out if it has any other doors. If not, it could easily become a death trap.

And yet, I find myself take another step back, crossing the threshold, the dead right on my heels. I don’t have a choice. Without thinking, I grab the handle of the huge sliding fire door, pull, pull with all my strength, and finally, the heavy door starts closing, just as the walkers reach for me.

With a loud metal thud, the door shuts, chopping off arms and hands and even half of the head of one of the infected in the process – but I’m safe. I’ve gained a few precious seconds to regroup and then head right back into the fight. Or so I thought.

But once the fire door completely closes shut, I notice a quiet clicking sound – and hold my breath.

The fighting noise as well as the groaning of the dead in the other room has been cut off. I’m alone in absolute silence.

_No, no, no, no… Don’t tell me…!!_

Struck with a sudden panic, I grab the handle of the fire door once more, struggling to pull it open, just a tiny little crack, just to make sure my worst fears haven’t come true.

But the freaking shit won’t budge. The fire door has latched shut.

 

_Damn it, damn it, damn it!_

“Nick!” I yell, pounding against the door with my fist. “Nick!!”

There is no answer. Not even the sound of the walkers that are undoubtedly still laying siege to that door can be heard through those tons of massive steel.

“Fuck!” I curse, kicking my boot against the door in frustration, but I know it can’t be helped. I need to find another way to get back to them, _and fast_.

Picking up my freaking stake again – still better than nothing – I turn around, hurrying off to find another way back in to the room where my boyfriend is fighting a horde of dead toreros.

At least no walkers in here so far. Not that this was actually a reason to let my guard down.

And indeed, just as I think that, the sound of footsteps. Immediately, I brace my stake, taking cover behind a corner.

Fast footsteps. Determined ones. Not the ones of a dead person shuffling around.

Could it be Nick? Or the Broker?

I peek round the corner, but there’s no one there, even though the footsteps draw closer and closer. _What the hell?_

Only then I notice it. A faint silhouette in the shadows, moving slow, almost invisible, hidden in the darkness. A person in disguise.

El Loro.

Wordlessly, I step into the room, lowering the stake. “What are you doing here?”

She stops and turns to me. Since the largest part of her face is hidden underneath her disguise, I have no way of telling whether I just startled her or not.

“There you are.” Apparently not. “I’d started to fear you’d fallen even further,” she replies, taking a few steps towards me.

“You saw what happened at the warehouse?” I ask.

She nods. “Of course. I’ve been waiting there for you. To get the goods you promised me.” She nods at the bag I’m still carrying over my shoulder. “But then all of a sudden the Broker showed up. What the hell did you do to her? She sure seemed pissed.”

I just raise my shoulders and shake my head, as if I had no idea why she was holding such a grudge against us.

It’s not like the Parrot waits for an answer anyway. “Where’s your friend?” she wants to know instead.

I nod over my shoulder, at the fire door. “Behind there, with the Broker.”

“Behind there?” she repeats, raising her eyebrows, which I read as her being shocked.

“I need to get to him, now,” I inform her. “Since you’re the Master of Secrets, I’m sure you know the way, don’t you?”

“Yeah, you wish,” she counters with a snort. “In case you haven’t noticed, your little fall has taken you right into the catacombs under the arena. For safety reasons, they consist of two separate complexes. The only link between them being that very fire door.”

I feel the blood freezing in my veins as she says this. “No. There _has_ to be a way! How did _you_ get here?”

“I do know of a secret passage into the catacombs, a shortcut if you like,” she says. “But it leads to _this_ part of the catacombs, not the other. That’s why I’m _here_.”

I clench my fists, letting out a scoff. “So what are you saying? I’ve locked them in there for all eternity?!”

“Well, the catacombs do have a proper exit of course. The gate for the bulls to be driven into the arena. It’s just the long route they’ll have to take.”

“Then take me to the exit,” I demand with growing impatience. “I’ll get back into the other part of the catacombs through there and at least meet them halfway.”

“I’ll take you to the exit,” she agrees, the “but” already audible in her tone of voice, “but I wouldn’t recommend you heading in there. The catacombs are a maze. And all corridors eventually merge with the main one leading to the exit.”

“So what?” I snarl, not getting her point.

“If you head inside,” she says, “you won’t have the slightest clue which route they’ll take. For them, there’s only one route to reach the exit: straight ahead. You on the other hand will have a dozen branches to choose from. They can’t miss the exit. But you’ll miss _them_ , guaranteed.”

 

***

 

Even though virtually every fiber of my body refuses to leave the catacombs without Nick, there’s one thing that’s for sure: I’m no help to him on _this_ side of that freaking fire door, so as much as I hate it, I guess the best I can do is take a leap of faith, praying that this goddamn bag over my shoulder will be insurance enough to keep the Broker from harming Nick. After all, without him she won’t have any leverage to lure me back to her and force me to return her goods.

As for the walkers, there were a lot of them, yes. But we’ve had worse. And if they join forces, I have no doubt they’ll manage to fight their way out, especially with that crazy taser spear.

Fighting the urge to look back over my shoulder several times, I follow El Loro to the opposite side of the stables, where she eventually points to an opening in the wall, a small cargo elevator.

It’s long out of order, and long forgotten, according to the Parrot. But a rope ladder leads back up, two stories, three stories even, far higher than we fell. Climbing on and on with no end in sight, I’m assuming we’ve already passed the level of the warehouse – and I’m right. We end up crawling out of some inconspicuous drain hatch on ground level, in what seems like a back alley to the huge market in the center of the former arena.

El Loro closes the trap door and hides it under a bunch of wooden pallets and a barrel, making sure this secret of hers stays a secret.

We hastily leave the back alley behind, and just like I assumed, we end up right on the central marketplace of El Bazar.

I don’t pay much attention to all the shady stuff the merchants try to talk me into buying as we pass their stalls. Instead, I keep my eyes fixed on El Loro, making sure not to lose her in the crowd.

It’s funny almost, the way she moves in a place like this with such confidence and determination. With the disguise and everything, she sticks out like a sore thumb. But instead of shooting her strange looks, the people on the market seem to make way for her, with the occasional shady guy even greeting her with an acknowledging nod. I wonder how they’d react if they knew the infamous El Loro was in truth nothing but a little girl.

But hey, she’s built up a reputation here, and no matter her real identity, she wouldn’t have managed that if she wasn’t such a skilled thief and hadn’t established this entire network of tipsters and clients. And involuntarily I find myself tightening my grip around the strap of the bag over my shoulder, just to be safe.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” she informs me eventually, having noticed the gesture despite walking in front of me. “I’m not gonna grab it and run.” She’s looking at me over her shoulder and I can see her mouth moving underneath the disguise, but it‘s so hard to read anyone‘s true expression if all you can see is their eyes.

“Sure,” I reply casually, avoiding her gaze. “And I mean it’s not like you’ve done exactly that to us before or anything.” Now locking my eyes to hers.

“Now’s different,” she shrugs. “Now were business associates. And I tend to fulfill my commitments. You know, customer satisfaction and all.”

I snort. _Yeah, sure._

“Besides,” she goes on, “in case they don’t make it out on their own after all, you might need more intel to rescue your friend.” Shooting me a grin, “and that means more business opportunity for me.”

“More opportunity to exploit people in need, you mean,” I murmur, mostly to myself, but she must have heard it anyway – and my remark seems to trigger something inside her.

“What do you mean by that?” she hisses, suddenly spinning round. “My prices are fair! Wasn’t I generous when I told you the number of the Broker’s storage box?! You didn’t even have any money to pay me and I helped you nevertheless!”

“Yeah, in order to soak the Broker,” I remind her, “who’s also your business associate by the way.”

I can see she wants to hurl back another retort, but then all of a sudden she grows quiet, looking at me. “Look,” she says in the end, softer now. “If you wanna give me the ‘you’re better than that’ crap, save it. I don’t need it.”

“Who, me?!” I frown, shaking my head. “Nah, you got me wrong, kid,” I snort. “I’m the last person to give you any kind of speech, really. Screw over anyone you want – as long as it’s not us. If this is the life that works for you, by all means, keep it up.”

Well, whatever she expected, it wasn’t this reply. I can see her eyes widening with surprise.

I shrug, slowly strolling on. “You’ve found your place in the New World, good for you. It was the same for me once.” Passing her. “Then I found something else, a bigger cause. But if that hadn’t happened, I know I could have gotten by like that just as well. So yeah,” shooting her a look over my shoulder, “if it works for you…”

She’s caught up with me by now.

“I just wouldn’t wanna be in your shoes when you screw over the next sorry assholes and they come for you and they don’t turn out as pathetic and clumsy as us.”

She’s impressed with my attitude on this, I can see it, and to my surprise, my words eventually evoke a soft chuckle from her. “For the record,” she eventually says, taking the lead again, “you’re the first pathetic assholes who are willing to go this far to get back what they lost.”

“For real?” I say, genuinely surprised. “What do you usually steal? Chewing gum?”

“Quiet!” she suddenly hisses, grabbing me by my sleeve.

Without even realizing what’s going on, I feel myself being dragged into the narrow space between two of the stalls.

“They had the same idea,” she growls, stealthily pointing ahead.

I peek around the corner. We’ve reached the edge of the arena by now. Over there is the large gate through which the bulls used to enter the arena in the old days. The exit of the catacombs.

Only, the gate isn’t abandoned. The Broker’s guards are standing next to it, apparently debating on whether to head inside to rescue their boss or just wait outside for her to reemerge from the darkness on her own.

“Damn it,” I hiss, turning back to the Master of Secrets. “What now?”

“We wait,” El Loro replies. “Preferably someplace they won’t spot us.”

_Someplace they won’t spot us_ turns out to be an empty market stall. We crouch down behind the empty counter. Conveniently, there’s a mirror attached to the ceiling, originally intended for the vendor to keep an eye on their goods on the counter even with their back turned to the clients. With a quick nudge, I managed to tilt the mirror so we can observe the gates while staying safely hidden inside the stand.

For like ten minutes or so, nothing at all happens. Some of the guards have actually started heading inside (which El Loro only commented by facepalming), while the others have started sitting down and waiting around just as uselessly as us.

“About what you said earlier,” the Parrot suddenly says after a while, and I turn my head to her.

She’s pulled her legs up to her chest, staring at her feet. “That you found your place in the New World… What did you mean by that? How?

“Looking for a better way after all?” I chuckle. “Well, don’t look to me for that. I just always had the feeling I fitted in better with the New World then the Old one. The end of the world gave me purpose, strength. For once the things I did actually mattered.” Shrugging, not seeing why I shouldn’t be honest here. “I’m glad the apocalypse happened.”

“Huh…” I watch her think about this for a few moments, then she meets my eyes. “And you still feel that way now?”

I nod. “All the good things I got in my life I gained thanks to the New World.”

She takes a pensive sigh. “I used to dream of the apocalypse when I was a kid,” she confesses. “I was a huge fan of all those dystopian young adult novels, the Hunger Games, Divergent, Delirium, the 5th Wave… I pictured myself as the strong heroine, living a life of adventures and actually making a difference.” She pauses. “But the real Apocalypse was nothing like that. It was filled with the deaths of everyone I loved, my parents, my brothers, my friends, filled with sadness and loneliness, and unimaginable fear and horror.” Her eyes meet mine. “I never wanted _this kind_ of Apocalypse, _never_. But… As El Loro, I’m able to get by. I may not be a hero, but I get by. And getting by is the best you can hope for in this kind of Apocalypse.”

“Guess you’re right,” I agree. “I mean, even if getting by isn’t as heroic as saving the world or anything. It still means you’re protecting your life or the lives of the ones you love, and it’s not like you got anything more precious than that, right? So if being El Loro is the thing that gives you the power to do that, cling to it.”

“What about you?” she asks. “What gives you the power to get by?”

“Ironically,” I chuckle, patting on the bag next to me. “An essential part of allowing us to get by is that booklet you stole from us.”

“Oh,” is all she replies to that, a quiet, sheepish sound. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s even a bit of…

And all of a sudden, a movement in the mirror. A figure materializing from the darkness.

_Nick!_

 

*** Nick ***

 

“Troy!” I end up banging against the fire door, as soon as the room’s finally clear of walkers. My knocking resounds through the stables. There is no answer, though.

The fire door is thick, solid-steel, so I’m rather willing to attribute the silence to the fact that Troy can’t hear me through the door, rather than assuming the dead got to him in there after all. Besides, the adherent room seemed pretty abandoned from what I could tell by the tiny glimpse I caught. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have chosen it for his retreat.

There must have been some sort of auto lock mechanism, since no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get it open. So I guess the only option is for us to regroup upstairs, maybe in the warehouse where we fell, or maybe the rented room we spent the night… I’m sure Troy will make his way out and wait for me in one of those places, with the booklet in his hands and a grin on his lips.

All I can hope for is that his path will be easier and safer than the one lying ahead of us…

To my surprise, the Broker didn’t come at me the second the dead were done. It would have been so easy for her to just fry my brain with that modded spear of hers and take revenge for the heist (and probably also the wine bottle, even though it feels a little unfair that I should now be the one paying the price for that as well even though it hadn’t been me at all).

I guess, in the end, it were the stolen goods that prompted her to team up with me, to join forces to fight our way back to ground level.

With every corridor we head down, with every new room we enter, the dead start rising and come at us. But equipped with the Broker’s taser spear and my hayfork, none of them poses much of a threat.

I’m not letting myself be fooled into thinking we’re actual allies. I’m well aware I’m much rather some sort of hostage to her: After all, as long as I am with her, she has a way of making Troy come back. The black market version of a hostage exchange: The stolen goods for my life.

So I guess we’re both aware of that, of what’s going to happen as soon as the first beams of daylight will be shining towards us at the end of some corridor: Our alliance will be over and I’ll be trying to haul ass as fast as possible. If, on the other hand, she’s fast enough to corner me, it won’t be long until I have a working pair of shackles around my wrist again.

So as eventually the number of walkers we encounter grows smaller and smaller, and the air slowly but surely starts smelling cooler and fresher, I catch myself considering taking off here and now, as long as I still have the chance to and she may not expect it yet. But what if now is too early? Who knows what will be lurking round the next corner? What if there’s nothing but a dead person or a dead end waiting for me? Then trying to get away now will turn out an extremely stupid more.

“Worried about your cousin?” the Broker suddenly wants to know. She’s been observing my pensive expression.

I don’t reply. Truth is, I’d rather discuss my getaway plans with her than talk to her about Troy.

“You shouldn’t be,” she goes on anyway. “You may not wanna hear it, but he has a pretty low opinion of you.”

I raise my eyebrows with a mental snort. “Is that so.”

“Hmh,” she nods. “Truth be told, he said some pretty nasty things about you…”

Yeah, _sure he did_. That sort of was the plan, discredit me to trick you into trusting him. And you, stupid bitch, fell for it.

I shoot her a glance. She’s walking beside me, a meaningful grin on her face.

Somehow, it angers me. I know it’s stupid, cause after all, it _had_ been the plan. But still, the mere thought of Troy even just coming up with nasty things about me as part of the ploy makes my stomach clench.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t spend too much thought on him,” she continues. “I bet he’s long gone by now, my goods sold to the next best dealer he ran into on the black market, his pockets full of clean cash. You’re never gonna see him again, and I’m never gonna see my goods again.” And adding after a few blinks, “ _or_ him for that matter…”

_Or him for that matter_ , I parrot in my head. Give me a break! “You should be glad he’s gone,” I tell her over my shoulder, involuntarily engaging in this reasonless bickering after all, “cause I can assure you, the things he usually says about people like you… whew… that’s the _really nasty_ stuff.” And because now all of a sudden she’s the one to remain silent, I feel tempted to add: “He’d never be interested in a girl like you, I guarantee it.”

“No?” she counters, and to my surprise she’s already regained her composure, even returning my look with a confident smile. “That’s strange…” she mock-muses. “Because I’m _preeetty_ sure he was… _interested_ … ” And with the smuggest of smirks she adds, “ _If you know what I mean…_ ”

I’ve come too far, I’ve been through too much in my life to be provoked by a statement like that. And yet. Thinking back to how she’s been all over me even though I “wasn’t her type” makes me wonder what happened when she was alone with a guy that actually was… Combined with Troy’s strange behavior when he saw her again in the warehouse… What the _hell_ happened between them after the auction?!

And the mere thought of them close in whatever way makes me lose my shit.

Fists clenched around the hayfork, I spin around, aiming for her head – but naturally, she’s seen it coming, maybe even _wanted_ it to happen, so she’s quick to dodge it with her spear, wielding it in my direction instead. The taser misses my skin by merely an inch, but even despite the distance I physically feel the prickling of the voltage on my cheek. _Holy shit!_

That sensation, the realization of how deadly her weapon actually is, is like a wake-up call to me. She’s the one equipped with the high-tech gear. I’m the one with the hayfork. If I don’t watch out, I’ll die down here because of some ridiculous jealousy fit. We retrieved the booklet, for Christ’s sake! Getting out of here _alive_ is our number one priority now.

_Don’t mess that up, Nicholas!_

Troy loves you, he _adores_ you. He’s sworn it to you so many times, most recently last night. He would never trade you in for someone else. Especially not someone like her. He’s waiting out there for you. Don’t you disappoint him!

Automatically, I raise the hayfork, deflect her spear once again – and thank God the handle of my makeshift weapon is made from wood, otherwise I might well have electrocuted myself just now when the hayfork’s metal prongs touched the taser.

She’s the one with the fancier weapon, yeah, but I got the high ground when it comes to physical strength. With the spear tip jammed between the prongs of the hayfork, I try to wring the spear from her hands. But she clings to her weapon with everything she got, even taking a step towards me, trying to kick me with her boot.

I realize the element of surprise might be the only thing that could settle this battle. Unexpectedly, I let go of the hayfork altogether, swinging my fist at her. She’s taken aback, but still fast enough to duck away underneath it – but that was actually her critical mistake. She cries out as all of a sudden one of the chains that still dangle from the handcuffs around my wrists hits her in the face like a metal whip.

Covering her face with her hands, she stumbles backwards a few steps, and even though this would have been my chance to attack her, maybe even snatch the spear from her, another attack means another risk of getting hit by the taser.

_All that matters now is making it out alive._

So without thinking about it for too long, I shove her into a stack of wooden crates, then turn around and start running, as fast as I can, praying that the corridor round the corner won’t be a dead end after all.

 

And thank God, it isn’t.

The fresh air had actually been a reliable sign. The corridor ahead leads straight into a big hall with easily six or seven other corridors merging into it. And right at the opposite side of the room – light. Bright and beautiful light.

I plunge into it, and even though my eyes take a second to adjust to the brightness, I don’t stop – just barely avoiding the hands of one of the Broker’s perplexed guards who have apparently been lurking out here, waiting for us – but certainly hadn’t expected such an overhasty reunion with just one of us.

Two of the men immediately start taking up the chase, trying to make up for their mistake of letting me through. Apparently, the catacombs lead right to the central marketplace of El Bazar, _good_. Certainly not the worst setting for a parkour.

The men follow me as I dive into the crowd, staying right on my heels as I take a sudden turn around one of the stalls. Behind them, I can hear one of their colleagues shout: “Leave him. He’s not the one with the bag!” But they don’t really care.

I hurry on, another sharp turn, then I knock over a big hazelnut filled basket.

“Hey!” the merchant complains, but there’s also something else I hear.

“Nick!”

Was that just someone calling my name?! At first I think it’s my mind playing me a trick. But then I take a glimpse over my shoulder – and behind the counter of one of the stands I spot Troy and… El Loro?

Immediately, I change course, not minding barging against people (ignoring their noisy complaints), and in the one moment I’m out of my pursuers’ sight, I let myself drop to the dusty ground and slide, Troy’s and El Loro’s hands pulling me into their little hiding spot.

Huddled in the darkness behind the counter, we hear the heavy footsteps of the Broker’s guards passing us by – and vanishing ahead.

 

***

 

“Troy!” I whisper, my heart literally skipping a beat as we’re reunited. I pull him into a heartfelt embrace despite our spectator. God, it feels so good having him in my arms again! I can’t believe he’s actually been waiting out here for me. I can’t believe we both found a way. I can’t believe we still have the bag with the booklet.

“You’ve made it,” he whispers against my hair and the huge relief in his voice makes all my thoughts of jealousy from earlier feel so incredibly ridiculous.

“ _You’ve_ made it!” I counter as we break away, looking at him. “And so fast!”

He gives me one of his goofy grins. “Well,” he replies with a nod at the Parrot, “I had a pretty knowledgeable guide.”

“You came to get him?” I turn to the girl.

Her grin is showing beneath the disguise. “I came to get you, too, but you were behind that fire door,” she points out.

“Yeah, sorry for that…” Troy gives me a sheepish look. “That certainly hadn’t been the plan.”

Oh, I couldn’t care less. I’m still smiling. “I’m just happy you made it to safety! As for me,” shrugging, “my guide wasn’t as knowledgeable, but she had a pretty badass weapon, so…”

“What about the Broker?” Troy’s face immediately grows serious. “We were expecting the two of you walking outta there together.”

I purse my lips sheepishly. “Let’s just say we eventually encountered a bunch of… insurmountable differences.”

Troy frowns at me. “Insurmountable differences?”

I shrug, nodding at him. “ _You_.”

“Oh,” is all he replies to that, hastily looking away.

“Speaking of insurmountable differences,” El Loro suddenly interrupts us, pointing up.

I notice there’s actually a mirror at the ceiling of the stall – and in it, we can observe the exit of the catacombs.

The Broker’s apparently made it out as well by now. She’s standing in the middle of her guards, apparently in a heated discussion with them. We can’t hear what they’re saying, but eventually, all of them start heading for the market. As they approach our hiding place, their voices become discernable.

“They can’t have gotten far yet,” the Broker says, her voice brimming with frustration. “Get me that _damn bag_! No matter the cost.”

“Damn it!” El Loro hisses. “If they start searching for you now, they’re gonna find us!”

Troy shoots a look over his shoulder, bracing himself to run. “Come on, hurry! We can disappear in the crowd!”

I catch his sleeve last second. “Too late!” And right at that very moment, the Broker and her guards are turning round the corner, now practically passing by our stand.

“Leave no stone unturned, if that’s what it takes. But get me back the stolen goods!” the Broker goes on.

“Let them pass,” I whisper. “We can head back into the catacombs once they’re gone.” My voice no louder than a heartbeat.

The Parrot looks at me, her eyes wide with panic. “They’re not gonna start searching at the other end of El Bazar! There is _no way_ they’re not gonna find us here!” she says with urgency in her voice.

Troy leans in closer. “If it comes to it, we have to get our hands on that spear… Maybe that will even the odds…”

The Broker, now a few steps away from our stall, is going on, “My clients have _paid_ for them. I _need_ them back!”

“Maybe I can help with that,” a loud voice suddenly calls right next to us.

Wincing, both Troy and I turn around, watching with shock the Parrot has gotten to her feet and started moving round the counter.

“No!” I hiss, my hand shooting forward in an attempt to catch her, but my fingertips only brush over the fabric of her disguise.

With shock and utter helplessness we watch El Loro approaching the Broker, who’s turning around with a puzzled expression.

In the Parrot’s claw: Our bag.

_No!!_

I sit back down on the floor, shocked eyes meeting Troy’s.

Against all odds, we’d managed to get the booklet back. We’ve been _so close_ to the happy ending.

And now, in the blink of an eye, we’ve lost it all.


	4. Chapter 4

“El Loro,” the Broker says. “Fancy meeting you here…”

“I was looking for you, ma’am,” the Parrot replies, stopping in safe distance to her. “I’ve been looking everywhere, but it almost seemed as if you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

“Hmpf.” The Broker’s expression darkens. “What do you want, Parrot?”

El Loro raises the bag. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

In the darkness of our hideout, I notice Troy’s fist clenching. “That bloody bitch!” he growls, knuckles showing white.

I’m unable to reply anything. I feel sick, so sick. Beads of ice cold sweat are running down my back.

“Her entire plan was to screw over the Broker,” Troy hisses, his face a grimace of anger. “We were fucking idiots thinking she wouldn’t do the same to us.”

I turn away, forcing myself to breathe. Not again. Not freaking again!! With every obstacle we managed to overcome, a new one has appeared right in its place. And this one, I fear, will be the final one, the one bringing our road to an end.

I’m tired. I’m just so incredibly tired. Oh, how I wish we could just be at home right now, safe and happy with our family. All I want is sleep…

The Broker’s voice feels like a taunt to our situation. “Where did you get that?” she asks the Parrot, weariness apparent in her tone.

El Loro takes another step towards her. “One of the black market dealers offered this to me just now. Said some worn out looking dude sold it to him in a haste, before taking off. His shirt was blood-soaked, so he didn’t ask any questions, just wanted to sell it on fast. I’m happy to return it to you, but as you can see, I had expenses…”

The Broker lets out a huff, apparently feeling her theory about Troy confirmed. Her eyes lock back to the Parrot. “You’re a loyal soul, my friend. I’ll let you have fifty percent of the price those goods realized in the auction.”

We can practically hear the birdie’s smirk in her voice, even with her back turned towards us. “You’re too kind, ma’am. Thank you for your generosity.” Handing the Broker the bag.

The woman hastily opens it, taking a peek inside. “Good, very good… The drugs, the tank keys, the Proctor documents…” she goes through all the items, genuine relief audible in her voice. Then however, she pauses. “That damned booklet’s missing.”

Immediately, Troy and I share a look, unable to decide what to make of that, and certainly refusing to get our hopes up – even though I fear that has already happened, the moment those words were spoken.

“Is it?” El Loro replies, puzzled. “Then that guy must have taken it before he sold the rest. Well, I guess it’s no surprise considering how desperate he was to get that booklet during the auction…”

“Yeah, I guess not…” the Broker slowly agrees with a murmur. “Well, whatever,” she eventually says, closing the bag again and handing it to one of her guards. “I got the majority of my goods back, that’s all that matters.” Turning to her henchmen. “Forget about chasing those assholes. If you end up running into them, good. Otherwise, screw them and their damn book. I guess in the end it was even a good thing that freaking impostor outbid everyone else for it during the auction. So at least it’s not like I have an impatient client on my ass waiting for delivery.”

“True,” El Loro replies.

The Broker turns back to her. “You’ve done a good job, as always, Parrot. I won’t forget it.”

El Loro takes a deep bow. That freaking hypocrite. “Always at your service, ma’am.”

 

***

 

Once the Broker’s finally headed off together with her entourage (“I need a drink at the Hellhole…”), the Parrot slowly comes strolling back to our stall.

We’re both on our feet in an instant, and I can hardly keep myself from grabbing her collar, yelling at her: “How dare you scare us like that?!” and breaking her nose once more, when I remind myself that without her move just now, we would have been found out and taken captive by the Broker’s guards for sure.

So now I’m supposed to thank her when all I wanna do is punch her?!

Troy’s apparently fighting the same kind of inner struggle.

There’s no telling whether El Loro notices our disgruntlement or not. She stops in front of us, reaching into her pocket and throwing the booklet on the counter. “You’re welcome,” she comments casually, then shoves her hands back into her pockets. “Sorry I took it from you in the first place, back then in the desert. I had no idea how much it meant to you.”

“Thanks, but I doubt you are,” Troy counters with a huff. “Considering you just earned yourself a sizeable reward for returning the goods you made us steal.”

The grin underneath her mask is back. “Well, I made a bit of extra money, you got your beloved booklet back and the Broker is sitting in the middle of her beloved goods grinning like Gollum. We’re all leaving this place with a smile on our faces.” A shrug. “Now that’s what I call a happy ending.”

Troy and I just share a look, speechless at this girl’s demeanor, uncertain whether she’s actually wicked or just sly. But whatever it is, what does it matter? We got the booklet back, this time for real, and we’re never letting go of it ever again!

Troy grabs the booklet with both hands, like a starving person getting served a freshly fried burger. He looks at it for a few blinks, then lets it slip into his pocket.

“Come on,” the Parrot says, nodding towards the market. “I’ll show you a quick way out.”

You can say and think about El Loro what you want. But there’s one thing she is right about. We do leave this place with a smile on our faces – a weak and exhausted one that is, but a smile nevertheless.

 

*** Troy ***

 

The _quick way out_ the Parrot promised turns out to be a former delivery access, a tunnel trucks could take to get inside the arena when delivering food or beverages.

Today, with the main gates and the security there serving as the main access to El Bazar, the delivery tunnel is pretty much abandoned. Except for the occasional dead junkie who comes to life as we hurry by, needle still stuck under their rotting skin – until Nick puts them down with an ostensibly stoic expression. Otherwise our path is clear.

Down here, we’re surrounded by an oppressive amount of concrete, the air around us moldy and stale. The only light guiding our way are the dismal, shattered blind light bulbs dangling from the tunnel ceiling, many of them engulfed by spider webs thick as a kitchen towel.

We don’t speak much, just head down the tunnel with hasty steps, each one of them bringing us closer to _outta here_ , to finally leave this godforsaken place behind once and for all. I catch myself reaching for the booklet in my pocket several times, as if I needed to reassure myself it is actually, truly still there.

Despite Nick’s injured collarbone and the black eye he keeps up with me without even the slightest complaint – an icy look of determination in his eyes. The wish to finally get away and to safety overpowers everything else, pain and exhaustion.

We’ve been down here for about five minutes now. The exit can’t be far. And indeed, after a slight curving of the tunnel, a massive steel gate comes into sight – it can be opened from the inside, the birdie assured us.

For the tiniest of heartbeats, we must have grown careless by the prospect of our freedom right ahead of us – once we notice the footsteps, it’s already too late.

From one of the side doors by the gate, two of the Broker’s guards emerge: A bulky young guy and an older, regular one, coming at us with such confidence there’s no doubt they’ve been lying in ambush here for us all along.

“Fuck!” Nick and I curse simultaneously, spinning round and starting to run back the way we came, the guards right on our heels.

We’re beat and worn and exhausted, they’re fresh and healthy. It was only a matter of time until they’d reach us from the very start. They get a hold of Nick’s shirt first – I realize that once he suddenly vanishes from the corner of my eyes.

I immediately abort my escape as well, turning around just to watch Nick being dragged to the ground, the bulky guard lunging at him in an instant.

The older one is coming for me, a fist being hurled at me as soon as my eyes dart to my opponent. With an instinctive movement, I duck down, avoiding the punch, and throw myself at the guard in return – arms wrapping round his torso, I tackle him to the ground, going for a punch myself.

I hit him in the face hard, once, twice, but the guy is tougher than I thought. With an angered grunt, he knees me in the stomach, a sudden nausea petrifying me, and in that one moment of dizziness, he manages to topple me over. I’m quick to regain my composure, hoisting myself on my knees to get ready to get up again, when all of a sudden, he treads on my left ankle with all his weight.

An incredible pain shoots through my entire body and I feel myself breaking down with a scream of pain, my opponent immediately grabbing my shirt to turn me around, so he can hit me in the face. His punch isn’t as powerful as his kick was just now, so I throw my fist at him in return. He dodges it, holding me down with his knee digging into my chest and goes for another punch, then a second one, and that one really hit home. I find myself spitting blood.

Right at that moment, someone comes flying towards us, grabbing my opponent with both arms and shoving him off me.

Nick.

The two of them land on the concrete ground, they roll over and out of my sight.

For a second, I force myself to breathe, only gradually able to sit up, coughing.

A few steps away from me, the sounds of Nick and the guard fighting.

I force myself to my feet, desperate to help my boyfriend, but wince at the pain zapping through my body as soon as I try to put weight on my left ankle. I grit my teeth, treading despite the nauseating pain.

To my other side, however, I notice the bulky guard stumbling to his feet as well, blinking as if trying to focus his vision. Nick must have hit him pretty hard.

I don’t intent to waste that chance. No matter the pain it causes me, I push myself off the ground, lunging at the bulky guard, dragging him down with me. He starts fighting me off, his fist connecting with my jaw, but I manage to hit his temple in return, dazing him for a second. Pushing myself on top of him, I secure his left arm with my knee, then I get my hands around his throat and squeeze, squeeze.

He starts fighting back with everything he got now, his arms and legs starting to flail and kick uncontrollably, but I don’t let go. I can’t.

Eventually, he loses consciousness, his body growing limp underneath me and I let go, sitting back with a gasp.

I raise my eyes and turn my head, looking for Nick, but he doesn’t seem in need of help. He’s pushed his opponent back to the wall, holding him by the collar and punching him, our desperation unleashing any last bit of hidden strength within us.

“Nick,” I call him breathlessly, and Nick’s eyes dart to me. The older guard is done as well.

Nick lets go of him, and the latter sinks to the ground with an incomprehensible murmur, as Nick hurries over to me.

I actually manage to stand by the time he reaches me, and without wasting another second, we rush over to the gate, both grabbing the handle, and – leaning back with all our weight – pull the sliding door open.

And for the first time in what seems like an eternity, pure, immediate daylight comes floating in, engulfing us like a divine blessing, embracing us as we plunge into freedom.

Behind us in the darkness of the tunnel, we hear the guards coming back to their senses, and considering the little time it took them to start moving again, I doubt it’s just their lame ass zombie versions coming back to life.

We don’t turn around though, but rush across the yard outside El Bazar as fast as we can, sprinting towards the turnstile marking an exit in the fence. With a loud metal clinking, the turnstile spins, then Nick breaks free, me next, both of us stumbling away from the fences and towards the parking lot.

It doesn’t take long until we hear the turnstile behind us clinking again – Jesus, they’re right on our heels despite how badly we beat them. But then again, they beat us pretty badly too and look at us  running.

Our pickup comes into sight. I’m falling behind now more and more, my ankle turning every second step into an unbearable ordeal, but I can’t stop now. _No way._

Nick has reached the driver door, jumping into the seat and not even a second later I can hear the ignition howling.

I stagger towards the car, my hands finally grasping the tailgate, fingers locking around the cool metal edge. With one final eruption of strength, I swing my legs over it, rolling onto the loading space.

Tires squealing, the truck shoots off, the sudden jolt making me bump against the tailgate.

Eventually pulling myself on my knees, I look back at El Bazar, spotting the guards reach the parking lot just now, both beat and shaky, and they stop as they realize it’s no use chasing us anymore.

_If you end up running into them, good. Otherwise, screw them and their damn book._

And lucky us, their will to please has its limit.

It almost feels like flying, getting carried away like this. So fast, so easy, so effortlessly.

I lean back against the tailgate, resting the back of my head on the edge. Above me, a bright, but cloudy sky. The truck bumps roughly over the bulky roads, shaking me time and again, but I don’t care.

We’re getting further and further away from danger with every second that passes. Away from the guards, away from the Broker, away from the Parrot. The black market, the auction hall, the Hellhole and all this other shit that makes that place the despicable den of crime it is.

Eventually, a faint drizzle sets in, and I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of the tiny raindrops spraying over my face. It feels so cleansing.

We’ve made it. We’ve actually made it. And this time for real.

 

***

 

As much as it pains us, we decide against the direct route home, fearing the risk of luring the guards in the direction of the ranch should they find a way to follow us after all.

They don’t, apparently, for we drive all afternoon, without any sort of vehicle coming into sight in the distance.

Eventually, we come by an abandoned motel with a raided diner next to it, and since night is about to fall, we decide to take shelter there and rest for the night before driving on.

We don’t pay much attention to the motel – too high the risk of infected lurking behind every single locked door.

The diner on the other hand has been plundered several times over, the windows shattered, the doors smashed in, the walkers stuck or still lurking there already put down. All the supplies and huge parts of the furniture and technical equipment gone.

_Perfect._ Significantly lowers the risk of anyone being around or paying this place a visit anytime soon.

To our delight, there’s a rather narrow staircase leading up to the roof of the building, which is actually a wide roof terrace with nearly two dozens of tables, chairs and broken parasols. The stairs are the only access to the roof: So once we barricade the door leading downstairs, no one will ever be able to ambush us during the night (unless they magically grow wings to fly up here).

The drizzle has stopped by now, the clouds making way for a peaceful sunset, and the evening is warm – so out here will be the perfect place to spend the night.

We equip ourselves with guns and knives (better safe than sorry), all the med kits we brought along, the food and water from the trunk, our camping mats and a few blankets, then we make our way up the stairs, pick a cozy, wind-shielded place and set up our camp.

Once we’ve had a quick serving of canned food for dinner, we quickly move on to finally treat our wounds and bruises.

“By the way, look what I found down there,” I say, nodding towards a half empty bottle of whiskey I’ve set down on one of the tables. “Might come in handy.”

“Oh, definitely,” Nick informs me as he gets up to fetch it. “And I can drink the rest once we’re done.” A goofy smirk, one of the ones I love so much, and the world becomes a brighter place, even though the sun is setting.

“So, who wants to go first?” he asks, sitting back down beside me on the camping mats. “You?”

“Yours seems more urgent,” I reply, nodding at the blood-soaked bandage over his collarbone.

“Yours seems more painful,” he counters, starting to gently roll up my left pant leg.

Argh! I can’t help sucking in a sharp breath. The ankle’s badly swollen, the skin around it already having turned into a dark shade of violet.

“Holy shit,” Nick mutters with a shocked expression. “Alicia’ll have to take a look at that, make sure nothing’s broken…”

“Feels more like a torn ligament, to be honest,” I say, gritting my teeth as Nick lets his fingers brush over the ankle.

Shooting me a skeptical look. “And that makes it better how?”

He hands me one of the painkillers and the bottle of water, then gets the icing spray from the rucksack. Applying a few puffs, I wince at the unpleasant cold, but hell, it does help with the pain… God bless the icing sprays.

Eventually, Nick wraps it with a bandage, and that’s about the best we can do for now.

My turn. So Nick can’t do without a suppressed gasp either as I help him pull his shirt over his head, then remove the blood-soaked mull from the injury on his broken collarbone.

“Fucking shit,” he curses, as I try to separate the cloth from his body, and to my displeasure the wound has indeed significantly grown worse after all this ordeal.

I unscrew the whiskey bottle.

“Yeah, great idea,” Nick praises, hand already reaching for the liquid, but I pull it away.

“Not for you,” I insist, dropping a painkiller in his hand instead. “The alcohol is mine.” Wetting a clean cloth with the whiskey.

Nick seems disappointed, but complies nevertheless, downs the pill with a few gulps of water. It’s not like he has much time to mope over this anyway, since once I start cleaning the wound, he groans and curses with pain.

Compared to that, cleaning the skin around his black eye turns out an almost harmonic procedure. Head tilted back, eyes closed, he takes a deep breath as I gently run the moist cloth over the bruised skin.

“Look at us,” he says after a while, a soft chuckle in his voice. “The worn war heroes.”

“Yeah,” I agree, a quick smile curving my lips as well. “Worn but successful war heroes, if I may add,” I insist, pulling back and closing the whiskey bottle again. And saying that out loud, I can’t help noticing a sudden feeling of euphoria rising inside me, the one that’s been locked up in there ever since the walls of El Bazar have vanished in the distance, but hasn’t managed to break free yet.

“Yeah,” Nick agrees with a content grin, apparently now experiencing a similar joy rising in his heart. “Can you believe it?”

“After all that freaking shit we’ve been through? Nah, not really, yet.” Turning back to him and shooting him a grin.

“Me neither,” Nick replies, looking down at the blanket. There’s a soft smile curving his lips, then he turns serious and suddenly his eyes meet mine. “But hey, fighting like this against all odds…” he pauses, then lets out a quiet sigh. “I could have never done it, with no one but you.”

Looking into his eyes for a moment, the one so familiar and perfect, the other swollen and bruised, and hearing these words from his mouth, I feel my heart surged with warmth. “Me much less without you,” I whisper honestly, and because I’ve been wanting all along, I close the distance between us and catch his lips in a heartfelt kiss.

The suddenness of my action seems to catch him by surprise a little at first – he ends up backing away slightly, just to return the kiss with the same fire. And as we sit up here, on the roof, with the fiery red sunset on the horizon, the warm summer breeze brushing over our clothes and skin, for the very first time we actually manage to wrap our heads around the fact that we’ve _truly, honestly_ made it, and prevailed against all odds – and that amazing feeling raises our spirits to a new kind of high.

I feel Nick’s arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer, my fingers softly trailing over the skin of his bare back.

He intensifies the kiss, his hand running through my hair and eventually down to my chest, slowly but diligently undoing the buttons of my wine-stained shirt.

_Wine-stained_. For the tiniest of seconds, the Broker’s dark eyes appear before my inner eyes and I wince as the memory of the kiss we shared forces itself into my consciousness. I can’t explain it, but it scares me.

Nick pulls back and looks at me. At first I think he’s noticed my hesitating, but all he does is give me one of his loving smiles, then leans in again, creating a trail of kisses down my neck.

Involuntarily, I wrap my arms around him once more, pull him closer. God, it’s _so good_ to feel Nick’s lips on me. So familiar, so safe, so right.

I have no doubt about who I want, who I need. I want to erase that one wrong kiss with a thousand right ones.

Letting my shirt slide down my arms, I hastily reach for the button of his pants, but he stops me and pushes me back on the blankets instead.

“Tell me something,” he says, looking down at me with a serious expression on his face. Did he notice my wincing just now after all? “What happened between you and the Broker?” he wants to know, as if he’d read my thoughts just now. “Be honest.”

“What do you mean?” I counter, acting nonchalant. “Nothing. She kissed me, but then again, I vaguely remember you locking lips with her, too, so I guess we’re even.”

He’s still frowning, trying to search for something in my eyes, even though I have no idea what it is exactly that he’s looking for.

“Nothing more?”

“What do you mean, _more_?” I repeat. “Of course not!” I insist. It’s also what I want to believe.

“Hmmh…” he goes eventually, frown still not lighting up.

What is going on with us? The Broker’s gone. There’s no reason for her to stand between us now – or ever again. He’s the one I love. He’s the one I wanna be with. I finally understand his words in the run down room we rented at El Bazar, with me jealously pouting on the bed.

“So now all of a sudden _you’re_ jealous,” I point out, touching his shoulder amicably. “And I thought it was you who told me that no one could ever come between us, endanger a relationship of seven years, or replace any of the things we share?” Fingers trailing softly down his arm. “There was something about the Broker, I admit that,” I go on, finally honest. Then I shrug, my eyes suddenly locking back to his. “But as you said, she would never start laughing at ‘plum pudding’, because she doesn’t know the joke that goes with it.”

Evoking a reluctant smile from him.

My face suddenly turning all serious, my hand comes to rest on his and I interlace our fingers. “We don’t share the same Grand Cause. And she would never be as crazy, awesome and badass as to undertake such a wacko suicide mission with me, and _actually make it out alive_.”

Pursing his lips with a pout, Nick eventually let out a sigh. “Fair enough,” he replies, his fingers locking over mine. “You beat me at my own game.”

I grin at him. “Isn’t that my specialty?”

With that, I wrap my arms around him, pull him down with me and catch his lips in yet another kiss, a darker one this time, more passionate, more reassuring and more demanding at the same time.

I feel Nick’s fingers roaming my skin before trailing down my side and eventually teasingly running along my waistband.

I take in every sensation of this wonderful moment, my blood pressure slowly but surely rising, my head growing strangely dizzy – whether it’s the painkiller, the euphoria, the beautiful summer night or my lover’s intoxicating presence, I have no way of telling. Giving Nick’s lips an urging bite, he helps me get rid of my pants, at least down to the bandaged ankle, then moves on top of me.

I let my head rest comfortably on the blanket, closing my eyes and letting out a long sigh, as my hands find their way to his thighs.

I hear him suck in a sharp breath as I let them slide higher.

“Nick…” I whisper, my body aching for his closeness as much as my heart is crying out for his love.

He leans down to me, a wonderful, passionate kiss, his lips brushing over mine, then hot breath on my skin as his lips start caressing my neck.

I close my eyes once more, thriving in that wonderful sensation of his presence, of him being with me, wanting me.

He climbs off me to get rid of his own pants and I take one final look up at the endless starlit sky above us, an ocean of twinkling lights, the eternity of a million years above us.

A gentle tap to my side, a prompt, and I don’t hesitate to comply, dying a little with every second we’re not united.

I can’t breathe, I can’t exist without him. It’s been that way ever since the moment we first met – whether I felt it or not. No one could ever get between us. I was a fool letting myself be confused, even if just for the tiniest of seconds.

I’m the one he wants. And he’s the one I want. The one I need. _Now_. “Ugh, Nick…!”

I suck in a sharp breath as I feel his fingers dig into my skin, my eyes rolling shut as a sudden surge of pleasure flashes through my entire body, mixing with a seemingly unsatisfied hunger that makes me crave for more.

He’s always so slow, but oh so thorough, just like I like it, just like I need it. I cover my mouth with my arm as I remind myself to breathe, breathe…

I lose myself in the ecstasy of the moment, our souls merging into one.

And all that’s left down here, under the endless starlit sky, is one certainty: Neither Hell nor Heaven, the Old World or the New one, and not even a place as perfidious as El Bazar could ever come up with anything to break this love apart.

 

***

 

The black sky above us has turned into a tender morning blue, the first golden beams of sunlight breaking over the horizon.

I slowly open my eyes and blink, a dull pain throbbing in my left ankle.

_Welcome back to reality._

It’s too early. Far too early to get up.

I snuggle back against Nick, who’s lying there in my arms, hand on my chest.

My movement however ends up waking him. With a random mumbling, he rolls over to his other side, breaking free from my embrace in the process, grows still for a second, then ends up yawning and sits up.

Rubbing his eyes, he looks down on me. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” I reply, nodding at the rising sun. “Around half past five, I’d say.”

Another yawn. “Too damn early.”

“That’s the downside of sleeping under the starlit sky,” I shrug. “There’s not really any blinds you can shut.”

“Well,” he counters, face melting into a playful grin. “Our night out here did have its upsides, too, wouldn’t you agree?”

Snorting softly as I sit up as well and kiss him good morning. “I guess it did.”

We decide to get moving despite the early hour. No matter the euphoric celebration from last night, we’re still beat and worn and injured, and finally reaching the safety of the fences at our home, proper medical attention, a warm meal, a hot shower and a soft bed is all we’re craving for by now.

I’m just about to button my shirt, when a small item drops to the floor next to me.

“Hey, Nicky, watch this…” I murmur, curiously picking up the item that’s apparently fallen from my pocket.

“Just a sec…” Nick’s already in the middle of rolling up the camping mats, so he only turns around once he’s done.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, taking the item from my hands and inspecting it with a sceptical frown.

A colorful feather, red and yellow, could be a parrot’s. Around the pointy shaft, there’s a little piece of paper.

Nick removes it warily, unrolling it.

“What does it say?” I ask, tilting my head to catch a glimpse over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Nick replies, turning it around to show it to me. “Coordinates. And four letters: SINK.”

Caught by a mixture of perplexity and curiosity, we immediately hurry down to the truck and punch the coordinates into our navigation. The system starts calculating the destination. And eventually the crosshairs come to rest on an inconspicuous building in one of the suburbs of Austin – just a few miles away from the factory that harbors our water pump.

I turn to Nick, blinking. “Another one of El Loro’s secrets?”

He only shrugs at me with a snort, his face breaking into a helpless grin. “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

And find out is what we do. Weeks later, as we’ve long returned home safe and sound, enjoyed the cheers and the smiles and the shoulder patting of the people who prayed for our safe return with the booklet, Liam and his water pump squad head out for the next supply run to Austin. There, they decide to check out the place the Parrot pointed us to.

“There was a trap door hidden underneath the sink,” Liam reports with euphoria, his voice a bit choppy over the radio. “It’s some sort of survivalist’s bunker. And not plundered yet! You should see all the amazing stuff that’s down there. Someone must have made a very good secret of this. We’re in the middle of carrying everything to the trucks. Ammo, fuel, and more than a dozen brand-new solar panels.”

Nick meets my eyes over the radio device, his left eyebrow raised. “So the birdie gave us a little farewell gift…”

I look back at him with a grin. “Looks like she had the same idea as us.”

 

*** Jadu Wadi ***

 

Jadu Wadi knows how to get by in the New World. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have made it that far.

Once in a while though, she ends up growing a bit melancholic, and she thinks back to the heroines and heroes from the dystopian novels she used to love so much. They always ended up doing the _right_ thing – and managed to live anyway. She knows that’s not how the real world works. In the real world, you have to do the wrong things to live.

But maybe it wouldn’t hurt trying to be a little more like them, you know, sometimes, on occasion.

That’s why in the end, she’d slipped those two guys a little something, an apology, a token of goodwill.

All the more surprised she is however, as she takes off her disguise that evening – the mighty El Loro turning back into plain Jadu Wadi – and her fingers accidentally brush over a strange sheet of paper in her pocket. With a wary frown on her face, she pulls it out, unfolds it – and can’t believe her eyes.

It’s the formula that allows you to calculate the time it will take for a dead person to turn. The one those two guys used to lure her out in the very beginning. But this time, without the blanks.

Jadu Wadi knows how to get by in the New World. And it’s not by making enemies.

It’s by making allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story and had a good time accomanying by Nick and Troy on this mission!  
> Thank you so much for reading!


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